


Post-War Blues

by Zoop (zoop526)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Chases, Elves, F/M, Fourth Age, Orc, Profanity, Romance, Uruk-hai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-25 17:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 24,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/641515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's an Uruk to do when his neatly ordered life is thrown into upheaval from an unexpected source? Run like hell, of course! Set post-War of the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Touring the Pantries of Hollin

Usually, when females saw him, their eyes widened in horror and revulsion, a scream tore from their throats, and they ran for cover; this one was no different. Not what Ufhau would mistake for a 'come hither' response. Annoying, really. Damn hard to concentrate with that racket going on, too. Snarling a warning over his shoulder as he rifled the pantry didn't quiet her, either; only seemed to make the wailing worse. Finally losing his patience, he strode across the small kitchen, yanked open the back door, grabbed the woman by the hair, and thrust her outside. She lost her balance and sprawled face down on the ground.

He slammed the door shut behind her, took a deep breath of relief in the sudden quiet, and resumed foraging. _Stupid fucking tark_ , he thought.

* * *

Right before winter seemed to be the best time to raid these lone farmsteads, Ufhau had discovered awhile back. The old and sick animals were slaughtered, the meat cured. Racks of flesh were prepared and ready for the taking. He had survived on his own for four winters since the War's end on the provisions he was able to liberate. Summers were best for hunting; not only was the game plentiful, but it gave good sport. Drawing a clawed hand across the leather jerkin he wore, and the scar it concealed, he fondly recalled the aurochs bull he'd tussled with the previous year.

War had hardened him, but even the end of wars had its challenges. Ufhau was an outcast even among other orcs, curse that _Sharkû_ and all his black deeds. The wizard may have made the Fighting Uruk-hai, but he gave them nothing outside a thirst for blood. What good is that when the battle is lost? Not for the first time, or the last, Ufhau grumbled darkly to himself over his ill luck. Yes, he was superior in nearly all ways to his _snaga_ cousins. He could calculate and reason, he could think things through and act with forethought, a capable leader by any measure. He did not weaken in the sun, though his night vision was piss-poor at best. He was tall and strong, a formidable opponent in any fight. Yet for all that, he had not drawn his sword against Men since his master's fall. Superiority over Men had gained his people nothing. Attempting to remind them of his superiority would mark him. They would hunt him, as they had done to the other survivors of Isengard's fall.

Stirring the dying coals in his spare campfire, Ufhau snorted indelicately, brooding. _Sharkû_ encouraged their sense of their own superiority, to their ruin. First, their hubris doomed them at Helm's Deep. Ufhau would never sleep peacefully in a forest again. Second, the Uruk-hai had always, without remorse, treated all other orcs like shit. His initial hope of joining Sauron's orcs after escaping the army's defeat was quickly snuffed out when he encountered a scouting band of them along the borders of Gondor. No, they did not welcome him. Not at all. Barely got away with his hide more or less intact.

As it turned out, the Dark Lord got his in the end anyway, leaving not just Ufhau but countless other orcs struggling to find their place in this world of Men. The _snaga_ had their holes to hide in; not so the Isengarders. They only knew the forge-hot pits, and did not have a comfortable recollection of cool, dark tunnels to return to. They did not have a _life_ to return to; more trees had seen to that.

Ufhau sometimes wondered why he held on, sneaking into farmhouses and barns, stealing food. One of these days, he was going to find one that had more than an elderly couple or a terrified widow inside. Grunting with grim amusement, he banked the fire and wrapped himself up in his cloak, another trophy of his raiding, and curled up to sleep.

* * *

"Let her go," the grey-skinned orc growled. "It'll be more fun when she's run a bit."

The other three orcs grinned lewdly and released the stricken woman. She stood trembling, trying to pull her tattered shawl around her shoulders more tightly. The orcs just laughed.

"Run, _tark_ bitch!" the leader barked, slapping her buttocks hard enough to knock her down. She staggered, but regained her balance. "We'll give you a head start, if you like."

She needed no further encouragement. Gathering up her skirts, she bolted off into the fields.

* * *

Laden with his heavy pack, Ufhau trudged up the hill, eyes on the ground. He didn't much like the sun, for all that it did him no real harm. It was far too bright for his small yellow eyes, even this late in the year. He much preferred the evening, when the sun was setting and the moon was rising. Twilight was more his time of day.

As he crested the hill, immersed in his thoughts, he was stunned by a small figure barreling into him. He might have kept his feet had he not just filled his pack to bursting. Windmilling his arms in vain, he tipped over backwards, gripping the figure as he rolled and tumbled back down the hill.

When they stopped, several things assaulted his senses at once. The fear smell. The scent of man-flesh. Correction, _woman_ -flesh, for men did not smell quite like their females. _Tark_ blood. He struggled out of his pack straps and gained his feet, albeit with difficulty for he was tangled up in woman and skirts.

"What the fuh...," he bellowed, then stopped. At the top of the hill, winded after what must have been a long chase, stood four little _snaga_ orcs of Mordor, if he was any judge. Snarling, Ufhau drew his sword and roared a challenge. Oh, this was going to be fun; he hadn't swept the head off a runty orc in many a year. The group cockily swarmed toward him, and he met them with fierce joy.

Wading into the four yelping _snaga_ , Ufhau quickly dispatched the first one, taking advantage of their surprise. They hadn't expected him to attack; maybe they thought he'd keep his distance, being outnumbered. Clearly, they were unfamiliar with Isengarders. The huge Uruk dwarfed even the largest among them, not only in body but voice as well. His enraged roars echoed across the plains.

The smaller orcs didn't stand a chance against the seasoned warrior. Though they had undoubtedly seen some action in the War, they lacked the level of training provided in Isengard. Ten minutes were all Ufhau needed to slay the remaining three.

The big Uruk cleaned his blade on the grass, then looked around. He was almost surprised to see the woman; he'd forgotten about her in the heat of battle. She was huddled against the hillside, staring at him, eyes wide with fear. There were bruises on her face, cuts on her shoulders where the orcs had torn through her clothes. It was no mystery what they were planning for her.

Sneering with contempt, he shouldered his pack once again, then turned away. He had miles to go to his winter lair; no time to waste on sniveling _tark_ females.

"Wait!" she suddenly called. Frowning, he halted and looked back. She hadn't come any closer, but she was standing shakily, hugging herself and trembling from head to toe. "Thank you."

Ufhau started. Narrowing his eyes, he regarded her for several seconds before grunting, jerking his chin in a brief nod, and continuing on his way.

"Please!" she cried, her voice desperate. He took several purposeful strides before turning this time. He glared at her, curling his lip in a snarl as a low growl escaped him.

"What the fuck do you want?" Ufhau barked. She jumped, backing up a couple of paces and clutching her throat.

"I...please, I...I need help," she stammered quietly, seemingly struck almost speechless by his cold glare.

"You cannot be serious," he growled. Facing her fully, he leaned down and grabbed one of the corpses by the hair. One fluid motion with his sword severed the head, and the body slumped back to earth. With a casual flip, he tossed the head at her, and it rolled to a stop at her feet. Glassy unseeing eyes stared up at her from the pain-contorted, bestial face. She barely suppressed a scream.

"You don't need any more help." Turning on his heel, he stalked off again, shaking his head.

"They killed my family!" she cried, somehow finding her voice and at least a token amount of courage. "My home is not far, but...I'm...I'm afraid to go alone." Her voice trailed off awkwardly as he stopped once more.

Patience was not a virtue Ufhau possessed in any measure. He could feel the turning of the season upon the land and was anxious to reach the relative safety and warmth of the south. It was a journey he made each year; south during the cold months, north during the warm. This bloody _tark_ was going to delay him; he might not make it to his southern lair before the first snows flew. The thought sent him into a rage.

Whirling around, Ufhau stomped toward the cringing woman. Grabbing her by the throat, he held her up so she had no choice but to look at his face. "Find your own kind, _tark_. I am no wetnurse for _tark_ brats." Pushing her from him with pitiless force, he took some satisfaction at the heap she fell into, barely suppressing the urge to kick her while she was down. Then the crying began, and he winced. Always, the _tark_ response was a flood of water from their eyes. " _Shut up!_ " he roared, covering his sensitive ears. The choking sobs diminished to an occasional hiccup.

Ufhau shifted his pack more comfortably and turned to leave. To his surprise, he was halted by a hand clutching the leather of his leggings.

"Please," the woman whimpered, not looking up at him. "Take me home. Please take me home."

He stomped his foot, dislodging her grip, but did not move. If her home was in the direction from which she came, then he had to grudgingly admit that it was on his way, or near enough to his path that he might not be _too_ delayed in escorting her home. And if the orcs had halted their raid to play with the girl, there might yet be goods he could take with him for his comfort and survival. Sighing with resignation, the promise of the last thought made his decision for him.

"All right," he growled. "But no crying or screaming. I don't like noise, and I will cut your tongue out if it wags overmuch."

She slowly rose, daring a glance at his face as if checking whether he meant his threat. Her eyes darted away quickly, finding no humor there. "It is this way," she whispered, then walked back in the direction of her home.

Ufhau trudged along behind her, watching her move. He'd never spent more than a few minutes in the presence of a human before killing it, and only a few more with their females to satisfy his lust before killing them. He couldn't honestly say he wanted it any other way at the moment. Damned _tarks_ were a pain in his ass if left alive.

However, she seemed to take his warning seriously, and made no attempt to speak with him over the next two hours' walking. Finally, the small farmstead hove into view. It was a wreck; even he could see that from a distance. The woman faltered but continued on until they were among the charred ruins of the house. She searched among the debris while Ufhau did the same, though they were looking for different things.

Finally, she cried out in dismay. He spared a glance to see what she found, but snorted with disinterest at the corpse of a man. The smokehouse was undisturbed; he was delighted to find that the orcs had either not found the hut, or were saving it for plunder when they finished with her. There was more meat than he could possibly carry, more than he had seen in one place since Isengard. His eyes misted with a different kind of lust as he pulled a string of sausages down and ate several without pause.

Several packs were in the smokehouse, so he chose two and stuffed them with hams, rashers of bacon, hocks, and other delicacies. Before the orcs destroyed it, this must have been a very successful pig farm, he mused. When he emerged laden with his treasures, the sun had nearly set, and he cursed loudly. Not much travel time left to the day. Just as he thought would happen, that _tark_ bitch delayed him.

Tempted as he was to just leave without bothering to say anything, he grudgingly went looking for her. It was then he noticed the tracks. They were obscured in places by the other orcs' footprints, but he was able to make out a trail leading further south, in the opposite direction the woman had run.

Crouching down, he examined the tracks more closely in the fading light. He picked up the lingering scent of man-flesh. Whoever made the tracks, he ran unhindered and unchased. Was there a village to the south that he didn't know about? Very likely. Or another farmstead. But how far away? The man must have escaped during the raid, which meant he had plenty of time to find help and bring it back.

Straightening, Ufhau cursed even more loudly. " _Tark!_ " he roared, looking around. Pricking his ears, he heard the faint sound of digging. Following the sound, he came upon the woman digging a hole. On the ground nearby were the corpses of an older woman and man, undoubtedly her parents. She had found trousers and a man's tunic to wear for this work. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun at the back of her head; many tendrils had escaped, making her look harried and grim.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

Startled, she nearly dropped the spade as she whirled at the sound of his voice. "I'm...I'm...they're...I'm burying them."

"Why?" he snarled, frowning.

She seemed momentarily at a loss. "Because...they're dead." She swallowed hard and briefly closed her eyes.

"So? Burn them and be done."

Her eyes flared and for the first time he saw something like fierceness in her expression. "We do _not_ burn the dead. It is disrespectful." She seemed almost sniffily offended by his suggestion.

"Well, Miss High-and-Mighty, you _tarks_ don't seem to have a problem burning _our_ dead. I have seen piles of orcs smoldering on the plains many times." He couldn't suppress his smugness when she blanched and shivered.

"I...I...I didn't know," she stammered in a near whisper. Then she raised her eyes for a moment, looking into his. "What do you do with your dead?"

His lip curled. "We eat them," he snapped, taking additional pleasure at the look of horror on her face. Who cared if it was a lie? Reaching out, he yanked the spade from her hands and threw it aside. "Who else was here, besides them? I saw tracks going south."

She stared blankly at him for a moment, then again closed her eyes. Her head bowed. "A man my father had arranged to wed me. Fin...something. When the orcs came, he...he ran away."

Ufhau snorted his disdain. "Coward," he growled. She nodded her agreement but said no more. His brow furrowed. "Arranged to wed you?"

Again she nodded. "It is past time I was...sent off, I suppose. We are very isolated here. There aren't that many men to marry, not since the war." Her voice trailed off and she dared a glance at him. "Is my...tongue wagging too much?"

He only grunted. Settling his packs more comfortably, he turned and marched southeast, figuring he could put a good couple of miles between himself and the farm before it grew too dark to see.

"Where are you going?" she called to his retreating form.

"You're home, I'm done with you," he replied over his shoulder without slacking his pace. He could hear her footsteps following him and groaned inwardly.

"You're leaving me here?" Her voice sounded surprised and a little frightened.

"Wait there for your man to return," he snarled. He felt a tug on his arm and whirled around, stopping so suddenly she plowed into his chest. She looked up into his bestial face, contorted with a towering rage, and cringed back several steps.

"Please," she breathed. "I...don't...I don't trust him."

Ufhau's jaw dropped open, revealing his sharp, jagged, yellow teeth. She shuddered at the sight of them. Recovering himself, he laughed. "Foolish _tark_ , you do not trust _me_ , do you?"

She shook her head vigorously, her wide-open eyes glued to his.

"Then why do you run at my heels like a dog?" he sneered.

"You...because...I," she stammered.

" _Spit it out_ , tark!" he bellowed. She was so startled by his sudden ferocity that she stumbled backwards and landed on her rear end in the grass. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared down at her. "Don't. You. Dare. Weep," he snarled through gritted teeth.

She swallowed the tears that were threatening and drew a shuddering breath. "Because you are an orc, and... well...wickedness is expected of you."

He rolled his eyes. "Is that what you want, then?" he roared. "You chase after me, hoping I will do something to you? Is that it?"

"No!" she cried, and struggled to her feet. She mustered what dignity she could and lifted her chin. "You have not...harmed me. Though you...terrify me...," she replied hesitantly, "you have done me no harm, and I am grateful for that."

Grunting dismissively, he nodded. "Keep going. I long for you to begin making sense."

She took a few halting steps toward him. "That man...Fin something...he had a look in his eye that I did not like. It made me feel...," she said, then faltered. "I think he wants the farm. Taking me to wife would give it to him, but if we are all dead, he needn't...be...so burdened."

"I do not give a shit what whiteskins do to one another for land or cunt," the Uruk snarled. She winced at his words, but said nothing. "I travel alone. Stay here and deal with your pathetic man. I do not need a burden either." Once more, he turned and stomped on his way, but she halted him with quiet words.

"You are not so wicked as I thought," she said quietly. "Perhaps none of you truly are."

He stood still, glaring into the distance that was becoming less and less clear as the stars began hesitantly popping alight in the darkening sky. "Yes, we are," he said in a low, rumbling voice. "Killing _tarks_ marks you. Men hunt you down. They do not leave you in peace. I just want peace."

"That is what I want, too," she said softly. He twitched when she touched him again, and looked at the slender white hand on his dark leather-covered arm.

"There cannot be peace between us," he replied, half-heartedly shaking her hand off him.

"Let me come with you," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "At least...until you grow tired of me. I cannot bear being alone as you do. I do not know how you can stand it."

Turning suddenly, he grasped her arms tightly. Her eyes widened in terror under his baleful gaze. "I am already tired of you." He flung her away from him, and she staggered but did not fall. If she had fallen, he might have leapt upon her, given her a reason not to follow him.

The sound of horses' hooves pounding the turf came to his sharp ears, and he whirled southward. The coward was coming, with several friends, it seemed. Cursing her viciously, he took off running east toward the foothills he had seen earlier in the day. Her soft footfalls kept pace with him, but he was too anxious to care. Four _snaga_ orcs were easy to dispatch, and simple entertainment. He did not know what force of men were brought to the farm or how they were armed. He didn't want to get caught by them, in any case, and have his winter road cut off if the _tarks_ suddenly acquired brains and began watching for his migrations.

The three heavy packs weighed Ufhau down, and hindered his speed. The woman, curse her, easily kept pace with him, hampered as he was. A steady stream of swearing in his guttural tongue rumbled from him, in time with his pounding feet.

They reached the foothills hours later and stopped to rest. Though he was merely winded from the run, the woman collapsed, gasping, on the ground and did not move. That she had made it this far without complaint surprised him, and he had to give her grudging respect for that. He let the packs slide to the ground and turned his nose into the wind, scenting the air. All he could smell was her, dammit. A legion of men could be five yards away and he'd never know it in the darkness.

"There is a stream near here," he growled, hefting the packs and heading towards the faint trickling sounds. "You could use a wash. I can't smell anything but your filthy sweat."

Taking a deep breath, she hauled herself to her feet. "You are no spring flower yourself," she snapped.

A grunting chuckle escaped him before he could check it. She had cheek, this one. Once on the banks of the stream, he let the packs drop again and began stripping off his leathers.

"What...what are you doing?" she squeaked as he began untying his breeches. Halting, he slowly turned his gaze upon her, clawed hands poised over the laces. She was staring at him, or more accurately, at his hands, eyes wide with shock. It was not so dark under the crescent moon that she could not know the answer to her own question.

"I go to wash," he said flatly. "As you so helpfully pointed out, I am in need of it." He resumed yanking at the leather thongs, worrying a knot that seemed reluctant to give way.

"Stop, please!" she cried, and now she had her hands over her eyes, as if just turning her back was insufficient to hide him from her.

A sly grin spread across his face. "You have not even seen a man before, have you, little girl?" he said, delighted. With quick, brutal movements, he freed himself of his breeches and stood directly behind where she sat, his member teased to partial erection by the cool night breeze and her nearness. "Take a look, girl. You know you want to."

She straightened stiffly and crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze resolutely leveled at the trees on the opposite bank. "A gentleman does not say such things to a lady."

His laugh was loud, sudden, and deep, and for some reason seemed to ease a tension he hadn't realized he felt. "I am no gentleman, girl, or had you not noticed?"

"My name is not 'girl'," she snapped. "I am Kara. And I am no _child_ ; I'm nearly twenty years old."

"My apologies, Lady Kara," he growled, bending forward in a mocking bow she did not see but surely must have sensed. "If it pleases her highness, I will wash myself. The lady may watch if she wants to." Chuckling under his breath, he waded into the stream in front of her, amusement mounting as she shifted position to keep her eyes averted from his nakedness.

It truly felt good, scrubbing days of dust, blood, and sweat off his hide. Ironically, his affection for bathing was inspired by an unfortunate miscalculation of geography that dumped him into a bottomless pit in Isengard when he returned there two years ago to see how it had changed. The dunking had given him his first taste of clean skin, and he found he liked it. Though he was still a rather hopeless swimmer, he could at least keep from drowning if not challenged too much.

When he finished, he returned to the bank, threw down a blanket, and stretched out under the stars. The chilly air on his body felt good, too. He could feel himself getting drowsy, sluggish. He could almost forget all the stupid things that had happened to him today.

"Um..."

Almost.

"I would like to wash, too," Kara said quietly. By the sound of her voice, he was fairly certain she was still turned away from him. He was too lazy to bother opening his eyes to make sure.

"So wash," he grunted.

"I'm going upriver a bit," she continued. "I don't want you peeking." He heard the crunch of her booted feet on the rocky bank.

"I promise nothing," he mumbled, his voice betraying his complete disinterest in rising to the occasion, in any way. Folding his arms beneath his head, he shifted slightly for greater comfort, and drifted off to sleep.

It seemed he had only just closed his eyes when someone was shaking him awake.

"Orc!" a voice hissed in his ear. "Wake up!"

Even after a proper rest, Ufhau was a surly grump in the morning. However, it was not morning yet; only the barest hint of the sky lightening toward dawn could be seen. Yellow eyes flaring open, he grabbed the offending female by the throat and squeezed. "Pray you have a good reason for this," he snarled.

"Horses!" she gasped, trying to pry his fingers loose. Immediately releasing her, he leaped up. His leather jerkin, apparently thrown modestly over him as he slept, fell to the ground. He spared a glance at Kara, but she was already scrambling around the camp, gathering up their blankets and packs. She seemed more afraid of discovery than he was.

Shrugging, he hastily dressed, grabbed two of the packs, and ran across the shallow stream, the woman at his heels, staggering under the weight of the third.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tark = man of Numenorean descent; derogatory term for humans in general as Ufhau reckons  
> Snaga = 'lesser' orcs; pretty much any not born in Isengard by Ufhau's estimation  
> Sharkû = old man; used by Uruk-hai to refer to Saruman


	2. Interlude 1: Flight of the Harpy

The thing about 'perfect coincidences' was that they didn't always _stay_ perfect. Finrael rode to the rear of the group of horsemen, trying not to reveal how disinterested he was in this 'rescue.' The day before, he had grudgingly agreed to take on the farmer's plain, sharp-tongued daughter if only to get his hands on the farmstead. The old man wouldn't sell it; he seemed to want to keep it in the family. Oh well, when the lights are out and enough ale is consumed, even a sun-browned, dried-up husk of a female like Kara could be tolerated. Probably.

Fin couldn't believe his luck when the slavering beasts chose that day to descend on the farm and slaughter everyone in sight.

Sure, he'd nearly wet himself in his panicked escape. Happily, the stupid orcs were too busy sending the livestock into a frenzy and slashing away at the pitchfork-wielding farmer, vainly trying to defend his wife and child, to give a damn about him. That the orcs probably, no, _likely_ , defiled the harpy before their own mysterious deaths gave him grim amusement.

When he gathered his wits, he fetched the King's Guard from the nearest outpost, his mind already grinding away at a plan to take over the farm now that the owners were dead. But that's not how it turned out. First, one of them was a tracker, and he saw the prints indicating that a survivor, likely Kara, had run off, pursued by the orcs. Then...well...the trail ended at a reeking pile of bodies. More tracks seemed to indicate that someone...or something...very large and undoubtedly deadly had met the pursuers and wiped them out single-handedly. The King's men were practically giddy with delight, recognizing the large, heavy footprints of a surviving Uruk-hai of Isengard. The smaller, shallower prints of the escapee could be seen heading back to the farm.

Things got stranger, then. There was evidence that the farmer and his wife were dragged to a spot where someone...Kara?...had tried to dig a hole to bury them. The bigger footprints disappeared into the clearly ransacked smokehouse, then returned. The prints became confusing again, then seemed to indicate the owners had _run_ away from the farm, heading east.

The King's men had been distraught; it took hours to find the orcs then backtrack the Uruk and Kara, so wherever the monster took her, he'd gotten a hell of a head start. Fin was secretly gleeful that not only four foul-smelling orcs got a taste of her, but apparently so did a hulking beast of an Uruk. Even if they found her alive, she'd likely be more than happy to accept _any_ offer of marriage from _anyone_ , so soiled and worthless was she now. Then, of course, disposing of her would be all too easy; women who survived such treatment often did not wish to do so for long. None would ever suspect his hand in it, if it came to that.

But first, the tedious inconvenience of finding and liberating the harridan was required. Sighing deeply, Fin cursed his mercurial luck.


	3. Impaled on His Own Poniard

Ufhau crashed through the scrubby undergrowth of the trees gradually thickening around them as they ascended into the piney foothills of the Misty Mountains. He, too, was cursing his luck, only slightly mollified by the frequent _thwacks_ of branches striking Kara as she ran in his wake. Yet she said nothing, still managing to keep pace with him as she had before. He'd once glanced back to see if they were pursued, only to collide with a tree. To her credit, and continued survival, Kara hadn't laughed at him.

He should have been more careful, should have covered his tracks better. Should have ignored the girl and let the _snaga_ have their sport, avoiding this entire ordeal. Even though they were still five days from his winter hold, he wisely struck out eastward in hopes of, if not losing them in the mountains, at least leading them away from where he wintered. Cursed girl!

At least his years of travel had given him a knowledge of the foothills that few others had. He knew, for instance, that less than a mile ahead was a cave known to be inhabited by trolls. Even more vicious and cruel than your average orc, if any trolls still lived there, Ufhau was fairly certain they would welcome the diversion of a dozen King's Guards. The trick would be leading the lambs to the slaughter without getting caught in his own trap.

Of course, he realized that disabling the girl and leaving her just might shake off his pursuers permanently. Funny thing was, he found a tiny spark of resistance within him to that plan. That she didn't _want_ to be with her own kind was confusing enough; that _he_ didn't particularly want to be rid of her was annoying in the extreme. Shaking his head in fury to clear it, he furrowed his brow and poured on some extra speed. He sensed her beginning to lag behind.

"Please, orc, stop!" she gasped, and he heard her stumble. Slowing down, he stopped and turned. She staggered a few more paces then fell to her hands and knees. Her back arched and she retched violently on the ground.

Ufhau took a deep breath, counting silently to himself. "How the fuck did your kind ever win the war?" he bellowed, all attempts at dispelling his temper failing.

Slowly lifting her head, she replied thickly, "We didn't have to run after you; you came to us."

" _Gah_ ," he barked dismissively. Now that it was quiet, he pricked his ears, listening for any sound of the horses coming after them. As he had hoped, the trees slowed them down. They could no longer gallop wildly, and they would have to dismount at some point. He could hear them faintly a good distance behind. If he could drag the girl back to her feet, they might make it to the cave by midday and lay a trail to look like they went inside.

"Get up," he snarled.

"How much farther?" she asked as she struggled to stand. Because he was near, she clutched his arm to pull herself up. His eyes narrowed dangerously, but she ignored him.

"There is a cave ahead," he said, and briefly told her his plan. Surprisingly, she didn't seem particularly disturbed by the prospect of leading several of her own people into the jaws of death. At least he wouldn't have to worry about her running back and warning their pursuers.

Loping up the hill at an easier pace, they soon found the yawning mouth of the cave. Taking a moment to snuff the air and examine the soft mud around the entrance, Ufhau was gratified to learn that the expected residents were likely at home.

"We'll have to go a fair bit inside," he said quietly, and motioned for her to follow. Nodding, she fell into step beside him, a little closer than he expected. He nearly bellowed in protest when her shaking hand found his in the darkness and clutched it tightly. Snorting with disgust, he allowed the intimacy for now. If they didn't pass quietly, they were likely to stir the trolls up. He'd give her a piece of his mind later when it was safer.

A skittering sound of a pebble coming loose from an unstable cave wall echoed loudly down the tunnel, coming from behind them. Now, Kara's grip on his hand tightened, and she grabbed his arm with her free hand, all but leaping into his armor with him as she pressed against his body.

"What was that?" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper. Fortunately, the stupid girl wasn't hanging off his sword arm. Ufhau drew his weapon and slowly turned. Darkness was not his friend; he couldn't even make out shadows behind them, and the cave entrance had long since disappeared with all the twists and turns.

"Back," he breathed, "Back out. This is far enough." He slowly led them back toward the tiny whiff of fresher air he could still pick up.

Ufhau almost breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the small circle of light marking the cave entrance come into view. He wasn't afraid, of course, but he hated not being able to see his enemy coming. It just made him nervous, that's all. But as was proven over the course of the last few days, Ufhau's luck had long since run out.

Not ten yards ahead, a huge shape lumbered out of a side passage between them and escape, effectively blocking all light and plunging them back into darkness. Ufhau was at a distinct disadvantage yet again; cave trolls were much better in the dark than Uruk-hai. To add insult to injury, Ufhau only knew one phrase in trollish, and it was a filthy remark he wasn't willing to trot out for this occasion. Then there was the girl to think of...

Wait, what? He checked himself, but not before the troll's initial attack brought its club into jarring contact with his shoulder. Unable to spend a second more on that treacherous thought, he roared back at the troll and met its second lumbering attack.

Blood pounded in his ears as the thrill of battle overtook him. It had been a long time since he'd felt it, that teetering on the edge of disaster, knowing that one wrong move meant death. The _snaga_ hadn't driven him anywhere near that edge, leaving him unsatisfied. This, now – _this_ was what he craved. His sword cut through the air, nearly whistling merrily as it sliced into the troll's thick hide. The beast was only armed with a club, which was deadly enough; one blow could easily kill. Ufhau kept dancing lithely, his feet knowing exactly where to be at all times, keeping his balance, driving him in and out of reach. His body likewise moved as if guided by some external force, dodging and weaving to avoid the swinging club. A second glancing blow nearly shattered his already-injured shoulder, but he only bellowed, enraged, and pressed his attack all the harder.

Luck was definitely not on Ufhau's side as he heard the woman screaming at the top of her lungs.

"Orc! There's more coming!"

Her warning, and a brief movement of the troll showing him how close the exit was, reminded Ufhau that getting caught in one's own clever trap was undignified at best, completely stupid at worst. He suddenly charged the troll, knocking it off-balance, and raced for the exit. As an afterthought, he managed to grab Kara's arm on the way out.

The trolls didn't follow them out, to Ufhau's relief. There were known to be some trolls bred to withstand the sun, but the majority still met their deaths under its rays. Dragging the girl up the hill, not caring at the moment that their tracks were pretty obvious, the intended subterfuge blown to hell, Ufhau tried to quiet the singing of blood in his veins. Now was not the time, no matter how much his loins throbbed with the hope of conquering _something._

He didn't stop until they were more than a half mile away. Releasing her, he swore loudly when he realized they were down one pack; one of his had been ripped from his back. Kara slithered to the ground, hyperventilating and sobbing from shock. Throwing the remaining pack on the ground, he lost track of what he was doing for a moment until he heard her screaming.

Shaking his head to clear it, he saw that he was on top of her, on his knees between her legs, fumbling to get his cock out. His other hand clutched the ripped front of her tunic, pulling it down to reveal the creamy whiteness of her breasts.

He froze. What the hell happened? He had no memory of jumping her like that. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he listened to her wild sobbing. He'd scared the hell out of her, but otherwise hadn't hurt her. With slow, deliberate movements, he rose stiffly to his feet and turned away.

Glancing over his shoulder, Ufhau saw her lying in a fetal position on the ground, shaking like she was freezing. It made him sick, watching her, and he had no idea why. He had long accepted the reactions of other races to orcs; it didn't mean he had to like it. She was the first person he had ever met who actually _wanted_ to be around him, and that counted many orcs he'd known. It left a bitter taste in his mouth just to think about it. To cover the discomfort such thoughts always generated, he straightened up and growled at her.

"Get up, girl." It was then he noticed that her pack was missing as well. "Where the fuck is your pack?" he suddenly bellowed, and she looked like she was going to sink into the ground under his wrathful gaze.

Hiccuping and sniffling, Kara stood up. She clutched her ruined tunic across her breasts and held her head up with scraped-together dignity. He had to give her credit as she met his eyes, regardless that she flinched as she did so.

"I _dropped_ it," she snapped, daring him to berate her for it.

"Why the fuck did you do that? Our food's in those packs, stupid _tark_ bitch!"

"In case you didn't notice," she said, her voice trembling but nonetheless defiant, "I had a _troll_ breathing down my neck...you...smelly...orc...fucker." She seemed shocked that she had used such language, for her cheeks reddened and she clapped both hands over her mouth.

He couldn't help it, couldn't hold it in. A barking laugh burst out of him, and he nearly doubled over. He instinctively grabbed her arm to keep from collapsing completely in his mirth, tears blurring his vision. He snapped back to attention when the back of her closed fist thundered against his jaw.

Sobering immediately, he glared hotly at her. She met his shocked stare with a look of terror, obviously just as surprised as he.

"Do _not_ touch me again," she hissed, her eyes flashing though her entire body shook in fear of what he would do next.

Ufhau fought to control his wrath. Memories stirred in him, words spoken by his master so many years ago, telling him what was 'expected' of him. He had dutifully killed his master's enemies, raped their women, razed their homes to the ground. He was an orc, it was _expected_. Every drop of blood spilled, every woman's pleading cry, every smoldering ruin, was a mark on some well-kept score card in Men's hands for why he had to hide, steal, and cower in darkness just to live. He had watched countless brothers get slaughtered during the war; had watched whole camps of them swept away on the tide of cleansing fire, wielded by the victors, after the Dark Lord's fall. He had vowed, one year to the day after the Voice of his Master was hushed, that he would never, _ever_ do what Men expected of him again.

His breathing calmed down after a time, and he found himself muttering an apology, eyes on the ground. He was ashamed, not that he felt such lust but that he nearly broke his own personal vow. Those men pursuing them, even this _tark_ girl, expected him to assault her. He would stubbornly refuse to satisfy them for as long as he could. Glancing up, he saw her look of surprise. For a moment, her expression was unguarded, too shocked to be afraid, and he saw strength there.

"I...accept your apology," she said quietly. As if to fill the awkward silence, she said, "I'm sorry about the pack. I just...I didn't want to die."

He snorted. "You travel with a Fighting Uruk-hai," he grunted sardonically. "Death runs at our heels."

"I noticed."

"Why?" Ufhau suddenly asked. "It is not your useless man alone who chases us. They might protect you from him, if that is your fear."

Kara looked away, biting her lower lip in a way that he found inscrutably arousing. "It is...complicated. I'm not sure you would understand, not being a man."

Rolling his eyes, he sat heavily on a nearby rock. "If you mean I am too stupid to see that they might take turns fucking you, I don't have to be a man to understand that."

She shot him a disgusted look, but hugged herself tightly in remembered fear. "I don't mean that. You're not...human. You already said you don't...care what we do...for land...or...or..."

"Cunt," he supplied, amused by the swift reddening of her face, neck and ears.

"I would not be free," she went on, ignoring his remark. "I only have legal claim to that land if I am married or...widowed. Even though I am the only child to inherit."

Ufhau could feel a headache coming on. If she went into the whole legal system and inheritance laws of Eregion, he was going to cut her throat.

As if noticing his impatience, she hurried on, "Simply put, Fin can't take the land without marrying me, then it will be _his_. If I do not consent, the village council will take it over until I am 'properly' wed, then it will be my husband's. I will still have no control over it." Sighing, she looked back over the route they had taken, as if she could still see her childhood home through the trees and across the miles. "I never liked it, really. Being a farmer. I confess, I wanted to don the garb of a man and join the army aiding the dwarves when they sought to retake Moria. Just to _get out_." Turning back to him, she looked him in the eyes. He was transfixed by this view into a world he knew nothing about; not just a world of Men, but of their women. He felt a jolt of recognition in her tale, for hadn't he also been suffering under the yoke of what Men dictated for him?

"Then you came, like a knight in shining armor, rescuing me from monsters," she murmured, her mouth turned up in an ironic half smile. He chuckled low in his chest at the absurd image. "I knew I would follow you to the ends of the earth, even before I saw my parents." Her voice faltered, her cheeks reddening again. "I haven't had time to even think about it. They're dead. Really dead."

He nodded, unsure what to say to that. He'd never known his parents; hadn't even given it a thought in all his life. None knew the means by which the Uruk-hai were bred save Saruman himself, and for all Ufhau knew, he'd raped his own mother at some point, or murdered his father. Among the Isengarders, there were no family affiliations, only military units. No clans or tribes, only companies and troops. He had dismissed such ideas as a weakness among his lesser cousins, for they talked of nothing else, even scarring their bodies to mark them of one clan or another. He never listened to their tales of what life was like in the mountains or the forests before the Dark Lord came. When they mentioned their mates, he made crude, suggestive remarks like all the other Uruk-hai, heedless of the dark looks the little _snaga_ gave them. He remembered a terrific brawl he started by suggesting an orc's whelps weren't of his own making.

Furrowing his brow suddenly, he said, "What do you mean, you'd follow me?"

She seemed to have been just as caught up in her own thoughts as he had been in his, and started slightly at the sound of his voice. Again, her cheeks darkened. "You were...strong...and brave. And I could tell at a glance that...that you were a traveler."

Again, Ufhau snorted. "Got to. Men keep me moving. I can't settle anywhere. I'm not wanted." Was that bitterness creeping into his voice? He silently cursed himself.

She bowed her head in acknowledgement of his torment, which only made him more uncomfortable. "We haven't been...kind, have we?" Shaking her head, Kara continued, "Forgive me, but I saw you as a means to an end. I will not blame you if that makes you angry."

"Whose end, yours or mine?" he growled. He wasn't surprised, not much. Folding his arms over his chest sullenly, he winced, the grinding of his shoulder reminding him of the troll's club.

"You're hurt," she said hesitantly. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer. "I am so sorry, orc, I didn't know. I couldn't see."

Grimacing, he tried to flex the stiffening joint. "I have a name, you know."

She looked startled, as if the idea that a beast like him could have ever been referred to in any personal way was a foreign one.

"Tell me your name," she said softly, trying to hide her surprise.

Suddenly afflicted by his stubbornness, he just grunted and started peeling his jerkin off. What did it matter to her, really? It wasn't easy to twist his shoulder forward enough to see the damage done without causing more pain. Sighing, Kara sidled up to him and looked more closely at the bruised and torn flesh.

"Let me clean and bind it, lest it fester," she said firmly. Without waiting on a response, she fished a water skin and rag out of the remaining pack. He watched as she tended his shoulder. It was somehow comforting, the no-nonsense way in which she worked. "I never believed them when they said an orc bleeds black," she commented. She smiled a little to herself. "It would seem other things I was told were the myths, not that."

"What were you told?" he found himself asking. He wasn't sure he cared; he just wanted the soft murmur of her voice to continue, a pleasant counterpoint to her gentle hands.

"Well," she began, "my father used to say that orcs do not speak as we do, but grunt like rooting pigs." She suppressed a laugh at his incredulous expression. "He also said there was no beast filthier than an orc, yet you bathed at every stream we crossed."

He glanced at her face, and saw the humor in her eyes, something he had not seen yet. It was infectious, her smile, and he found himself returning it. "What else?"

"Lots of things," she murmured distractedly. "Orcs torture those they capture."

Ufhau sobered, reluctantly nodding. "That is true."

"Yet you haven't harmed me," Kara pointed out.

"You are not my captive," he replied, then added teasingly, "If anything, _you_ captured _me_."

Kara's face became troubled. "My mother used to tell me tales of the elves," she said quietly. "The worst was about an elf queen kidnapped by orcs in these very mountains. She never told me what they did to her, but...well, even as a child I knew it was something...terrible. The elf woman was so ruined by...she chose to depart into the West rather than live with the torment."

Ufhau grunted. He knew the story as well, perhaps told to him by some of those same orcs, he suspected. Bragged of, rather. He found their gleeful remembrances suddenly distasteful, though at the time he had pressed them for the lurid details.

"I know now what was done," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "What you were...intending...to do." Her hands, once so gentle and sure, had become unsteady and clumsy, until she finally stepped away from him.

"You tempt me," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'll not deny it. I am what I am. Foul and cursed." He winced, humiliated by the admission. Something about this female made stupid shit pour from his mouth. "So you know that story," he snarled, recovering himself. "Doesn't explain why you threw caution to the winds and latched onto me like a leech."

"Because," she said, still unable to look him in the face, "you slew those orcs, and did not...do...anything to me."

He snorted. "Didn't want to waste the time," he said. "I wanted to be on my way. Now I'm headed east instead of south, and I've got a stupid _tark_ bitch slowing me down even more."

She slowly sat on a fallen log opposite him, her head bowed. "I've been selfish, I know."

Shrugging, he rose. "Doesn't matter now. We gotta keep moving. Our hunters may waste a few minutes at the cave, but not enough." He hoisted the pack onto his shoulders and shifted it into a more comfortable position. When he looked back at her, she hadn't moved. Her eyes, glistening moistly in the failing light, were turned up at him. "Are you coming?" he growled.

Kara rose and approached him hesitantly. "Are you certain?" she said quietly, hopefully.

He looked up, past her into the trees, anywhere but at her, with her eyes piercing him like arrows. All he felt safe doing was giving her a grunt and a nod, then together they disappeared into the trees.


	4. Interlude 2: Written in the Dirt

"What do you make of this, Maklin?"

Finrael glanced up at the captain of the King's Guards and looked away, barely interested. By the sounds of roaring and thrashing in the cave they left behind, it seemed this orc wasn't completely stupid. Had the tracker not seen their footprints coming back out, they might have barged in on several angry trolls.

"The story's gettin' stranger, and no mistake," the tracker said after a few minutes' examination of the markings in the clearing.

"Looks like he..." the captain started, but the tracker shook his head.

"Nah, looky here," Maklin said, pointing out each indentation, his finger hovering carefully to avoid disturbing the signs. "He had her down, sure, but you can see she was still clothed. Right here's where her belt dug into the ground. Fought like a wildcat, she did," he mused. "Then he just...stopped, looks like. Tracks go over here, then she got up and went to him."

"Why would she do that?" Fin asked, curious in spite of himself. So the orc had some weird moment of weakness and didn't violate her. What did that matter? But to go to him _afterwards_...That was very odd.

"Agh," another guard grimaced as he examined the rock the orc had sat on. "The thing was bleeding." Wrinkling his nose, he backed away. Maklin the tracker leaned close to examine the droplets, long since dried.

"How long ago?" the captain asked.

"Couple of hours, no more than that." The tracker kept his eyes on the ground, sometimes crouching to get a closer look. Finally, he straightened and addressed the guards. "They're still heading east. Probably three or four hours ahead of us."

The captain seemed to mull the situation over in his head. Fin tried not to look bored. "We've about lost the sun. Let's move up a bit more, put some more distance between ourselves and the troll cave, and make camp."

Shaking himself out of his preoccupation, Fin went to the captain. He felt obligated to make some sort of statement at this point. "Sir, I realize you know your business, but that...beast...has my fiancée. Surely, every moment wasted..."

The captain held up a gloved hand. "Finrael, we're dealing with an Uruk here. He can't travel at night any better than we can."

"But...he could...assuming he hasn't already...my poor girl," he said, making a reasonable show of stumbling awkwardly over himself.

"I've no doubt your girl is holding her own," the captain replied kindly, patting Fin on the shoulder. "We've seen no evidence that he's done anything more than Maklin says. If she's a maid, as you said, we'd be sure to see if he took her." Taking a deep breath, the captain shook his head. "I don't like it any better than you do, but we're only men. We don't have the stamina of those Isengarders. We need to rest. But look at it this way; if he's determined to keep her, she'll need to rest too. You saw that puddle of sick; that wasn't from the orc."

Fin nodded, working up as much of a brave face as he could muster. "We're not going to...give up on her, then, are we?"

The captain straightened. "No, sir. We'll see this through, and get her back in one piece. That orc will pay a king's ransom for taking her, you have my word."


	5. Treasure Hunter's Reward

Well after nightfall, Ufhau consented to stop for another rest, though he was agitated. He sensed their pursuers closing in. Kara seemed to pick up on his anxiety and kept looking back the way they'd come, though the darkness hid even the surrounding trees from her sight.

"Get some rest," he growled low, pricking his ears to even the slightest sounds. Silently, she obeyed, unrolling the remaining pallet and blanket to nestle warmly close by. The nights were getting colder, and even his thick hide was hard pressed to protect him from the chill air coming down the mountain. Glancing over at her, he pondered the idea of curling up alongside her, sharing their bodies' warmth beneath the blanket.

Furious with himself, he stared angrily into the trees and pulled his cloak more tightly around himself. Before the war, he wouldn't have bothered pondering; he would have done what he liked, followed his whims. He probably would have spent the entire journey pounding into her, too. Not that he didn't want to. Raising a shaking hand to his forehead, he rubbed it roughly. Whether she confessed it or not, he knew she trusted him, though she had no reason to, and he felt somehow bound by that trust. It didn't make any damn sense, but there it was.

"Orc."

He started at her soft voice, alarmingly loud in the silence. Without turning, he grunted acknowledgement and waited.

"You are cold."

He shrugged.

"There is...room."

His breath quickened for a moment, and he struggled for control. Was she inviting him to share the blanket? Had she completely lost her mind?

Slowly turning around, he peered through the darkness at her, barely visible in the stars' light. "You do not know what you are offering."

She drew a shuddering breath. "Yes I do. You are cold, and this blanket is all we have. It is selfish of me to keep you from it, since it is yours and it is partly my fault we only have the one, but I'm...I'm so cold..."

Staring into the trees again, he snarled menacingly, "If I am close to you, I will fuck you. Think again on your offer."

His statement was met with silence. She did not repeat her offer, nor did she speak again.

* * *

In the gray light of an overcast morning, Ufhau led the way along animal trails and infrequently-used paths, pausing occasionally to listen behind and sniff ahead. The woman had not spoken a word to him since he'd informed her rather bluntly of the price for self-sacrifice where he was concerned, and though the silence made it easier for him to hear every sound in the woods, it was nonetheless annoying.

As if to illustrate his darkening mood, a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the forest. Ufhau halted, silently counting.

_One, two, three..._

A rumble of thunder rolled and echoed across the sky. Grimacing, he started walking again. He didn't much like rain. He wanted his winter lair very badly all of a sudden. Hell, his summer den wasn't looking too badly right now, either. Rain had a way of making an already cold day just that much more miserable. Rain turned placid streams into raging torrents. Rain flooded roads and paths, making them nigh impassable. Rain...

...washed away footprints.

A faint tremor of glee threatened to take hold, but he held it down. _Easy, now_ , he admonished himself, _it ain't raining yet._ But when he focused his attention on it, he could smell the change in the air. Rain wouldn't be long in coming.

Glancing back at Kara, he noted how she trudged after him, eyes on the path ahead, hugging herself against the chill breeze snaking its way through the dense trees. He needed to find shelter, that was certain. She didn't have his thick hide or his strength, probably couldn't withstand a mountain downpour or the mudslides that sometimes went with it. The closest thing he could think of in this area was a shallow hollow he'd camped in when passing through immediately after the war. It was somewhat protected, and perhaps large enough for the two of them. It would be a tight squeeze, though.

He was suddenly reminded of why he'd gone this way back then. Thinking that walking across the plains of Rohan was a supremely unwise move while humans were on the alert for roving bands of orcs, Ufhau had headed into the depths of Fangorn Forest, traveling north and west along the edge of the Misty Mountains. It had not been an easy passage. Every time he tried to light a campfire, the trees would close in threateningly until he doused the flames and moved on. He felt as if he were being herded by extremely tall, vicious sheepdogs. He couldn't recall sleeping a moment for the entire four days.

Much like now. They were far too close to Fangorn for his comfort. In fact, he hadn't slept since that first night, come to think of it. How long had they been running? Three days now? If he didn't get some sleep soon, he'd end up as he had then, staggering in a stupor, imagining the rocks were whispering threats to him as he gingerly stepped around them.

He snorted with amusement. The rocks had actually provided better conversation than Kara was at the moment. The thought made him scowl, driving the humor away. Now he wanted conversation, is that it? Last night it was a blood-warming tumble, and now it was a chat? Shaking his head, he decided he needed to get rid of her fast before she turned him into a man.

* * *

Though it had been four years and Ufhau had originally come from the other side of the mountain range, his unerring sense of direction led him straight to the hollow. Unfortunately, they didn't reach it until the skies had opened up with a bloody vengeance and soaked the hapless travelers to the skin.

A campfire was out of the question, and the only things that were dry were the contents of Ufhau's pack, which thankfully included the blanket. With a resigned sigh, he peeled his soaked leathers off, ignoring the gasping and whimpering going on in the tight quarters. His memory hadn't been faulty; the hollow was very narrow, affording them little elbow room as they huddled inside together.

"Shut the fuck up," he grumbled as he wrung out his cloak with difficulty. Pulling the blanket around his shoulders, he spared her a withering look. "You want to freeze to death? Better get'em off, then."

"You must promise me," she said quietly, teeth chattering.

Ufhau rolled his eyes. "I promise nothing."

"Then I would rather die," she whispered, pressing herself against the rock wall of the hollow as far from him as she could get, which wasn't much.

Exasperated, he glared at her. "Explain this to me, then. Last night you were more than willing to have me up against you, and now you'd rather die. You follow me around like a bitch in heat, yet..."

He never finished. Kara's eyes flared angrily and she slapped him across the face. "I have done nothing of the sort," she hissed.

"You are a maid," he said, realization dawning. At her blush, he laughed out loud. "Oh, _that_ is why they chase after you! What a fool I've been! I should have seen it!" He shook his head, chuckling.

"What difference does that make to one such as _you_?" she snapped haughtily.

"None at all," he said. "It explains a lot, though. I don't claim to know what _tarks_ value in their females, but I know enough. Your worth is entirely between your legs, is it not?"

Closing her eyes, she looked away.

Oh no. Not again.

"I beg of you," he said in a tone that was in no way pleading, "don't weep. It will kill me."

Shooting him a pained yet furious glare, Kara jerkily yanked at her sopping wet breeches and tunic until she was as naked as he, then pulled the blanket over to include herself. Curling her lip in disgust, her body trembling with cold and fear, she did not protest when he slipped an arm around her to pull her closer.

"There now," he rumbled quietly, nuzzling her ear and chuckling when she shrugged her shoulder to block his advance. "Was that so bad?"

"You are a monster," she whispered through clenched teeth.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged good-naturedly. Her body was warming quickly against his, and her skin... How had he never noticed the softness of their skin, those _tark_ women he'd taken so many times? Neither had he noticed their scent, a musky odor that seemed to arouse his primal mating instincts. _Huh_ , he thought to himself, _maybe she **is** in heat_.

His hand was on her waist. Slowly, he let it drift down her hip. He watched her face in the dim light. She looked terrified, but wasn't protesting, either by word or deed. Once more, he leaned in to nuzzle behind her ear, slowly, as if she were a frightened animal he wished to tame. She closed her eyes and bit her lower lip, breath quickening, body tensing.

"Are you afraid?" he breathed against the hollow of her neck where it met her shoulder. The angle was awkward; he'd be more comfortable if he was facing her. On top of her, even. But some niggling voice in the back of his mind warned him against taking his usual approach.

She was beyond speech, apparently, and could only nod quickly. He noted how she was sitting, with her knees drawn up and her arms crossed tightly, protectively over her breasts. It was a position he'd broken through before, and he knew she was no match for his strength. But again, that damned voice told him no, and for once he agreed.

"Tell me, then," he said softly, "how I might please you." As he spoke, his mouth was against her neck, right over her swiftly fluttering pulse. His teeth lightly grazed the skin, and she shivered.

"Leave me be," she breathed huskily.

He chuckled. "That would not please _me_ ," he chided. "Have you not wanted this? Ever?"

"Of course I have," she replied unsteadily. "I am not dead."

He laughed, his mirth shaking both their bodies. "Tell me."

"There is...a man...who comes in the fall...He helps slaughter the pigs," she said haltingly. His mouth continued to roam, his tongue occasionally darting out to taste her. Each time he did so, she shuddered, and her speech faltered. "I...watched him bathe...many times...afterwards..."

"You wanted to touch him," Ufhau teased. His hand was now gently stroking her arm, feeling the tension gradually releasing.

"Yes."

"Feel him," he murmured, slowly drawing her arm away and bringing her hand down.

"Yes."

"Inside you."

"Yes," she whimpered.

"Yet you could not," he said, a tinge of sympathetic regret in his voice. He entwined his fingers with hers and she gripped his hand firmly.

"We kissed, once," she whispered.

"Only once?"

"Once," she repeated softly.

He released her hand and drew his fingers up her arm to her shoulder in a slow caress. She quivered again as his hand, excruciatingly slowly, slid downward toward her breast. "Did he touch you?"

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

When his clawed hand engulfed her breast, she melted against him. The hand he had left in his lap shook as she suddenly gripped his thigh. "Did he taste you?" Again, Kara shook her head.

Ufhau eased her back to lie flat, then lay beside her. He'd never done this before; he was acting entirely on instinct, reading her body's reactions for cues of what to do next, and how to do it. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and he wondered if she had the butcher in her thoughts as he touched her. A spark of jealousy flared and died for a moment, startling him. He forced himself to accept the fact that, in order for her to endure his touch, she had to be elsewhere entirely. It was humiliating, but not enough to kill the desire he had harbored these many days.

He took great care in his caresses to avoid scraping or piercing her skin with his claws. She still had her other breast covered; with the same gentle firmness, he pulled the other arm down to her side as well. The flesh of Kara's breasts was soft and pliant. It was fascinating to him that this particular bit of anatomy could be so enticing. He inclined his head and flicked his tongue over her nipple, marveling at the swift hardening of the tiny peak. Gathering her to him, he made himself comfortable. Descending once more, he abandoned preamble and took the entire areola into his mouth, laving the nipple with his tongue. Kara gasped and arched her back, pushing herself against him.

There was still that intoxicating musk in the air, getting stronger every second. Abandoning her breast for the moment, Ufhau followed his nose to the source. Alas, the way was barred; her legs were clamped tightly together. It would take some additional effort to reach that goal.

Remembering how she had spoken of kissing the man, Ufhau made his slow way back up her body to her mouth, first drawing his tongue across her lips, then capturing her mouth as he had sometimes seen humans do. His amateurish attempt was accepted, however, and he felt suddenly weakened as she responded to him. Again, a simple thing held such sweet bliss. He was startled when her lips parted, and her tongue ventured forth into his mouth.

For the first time, he thanked that mysterious butcher for teaching this woman such a pleasure as this.

But her tongue discovered his teeth, too sharp and jagged to be mistaken for a man's. She recoiled from him for a moment. To Ufhau's surprise, she sighed against his mouth, and her arms came up to encircle his neck.

Emboldened by her apparent acceptance, he once more embarked on a journey downward, pausing to nibble and suckle her breasts along the way. When he reached the object of his desire, her legs were no longer clamped. Though she trembled, and her breath caught in her throat as his hands slid down her thighs, she did not resist him. He slowly parted her legs, nuzzling her mound briefly before descending.

It was a place he'd never explored, and clearly one she had never opened up to anyone before either. As soon as his tongue darted across her opening, she jerked spasmodically and moaned. Ufhau grinned, and did it again just to see if she responded the same way. He was not disappointed.

He did not trust his claws anywhere near her delicate folds. Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he drew his tongue in and around her labial lips, utterly fascinated by the taste, smell, and feel of them. Kara was clearly enjoying it as well, for not only were her hips rolling sensuously against him, but she dug her fingers into his hair and held him in place lest he allow himself to be distracted by some other part of her body.

When he pushed his tongue into her as far as it would go, she cried out loud, and her hips rose off the ground. That voice in his mind told him now was the time. She was ready for him. He needed no further encouragement.

He slowly withdrew, trying to ignore her whimper of disappointment. Ufhau kissed and nuzzled his way back up her body, glorying in the affect he was having on her. How could he possibly take pleasure in an unwilling partner again, after this? Leaning on his elbows above her, he kissed her mouth, their tongues dancing together. She was completely open to him, her thighs comfortably cradling his hips. Her hands fluttered nervously across his back, unsure where to go or what to do. He found the gesture endearing for some reason.

Reaching down between them, he teased her opening with his penis, rubbing gently, giving her one last chance to say no, to push him away and save her precious treasure from plunder.

"Tell me your name," she breathed against his mouth.

"Ufhau," he grunted.

"Ufhau," she repeated. "Take me."

"As you wish, my lady." And he slowly, carefully, plumbed her depths.


	6. Interlude 3: Vengeance is Mine...or something like that

"Bloody hell," the tracker swore from his squatting position in the hollow. Finrael glanced over, wondering what Maklin was imagining now. The Captain delicately stepped into the dry, sheltered alcove, careful not to disturb any signs, and hovered over the tracker.

Maklin's shoulders were slumped, his head bowed. The Captain adopted the same posture in response to the other man's quiet report. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, gripped the tracker's shoulder briefly, and left the hollow. The look he gave Finrael was filled with sympathy.

Well he should pity me, the man thought. He had been dragged through the densest undergrowth imaginable, chasing a woman he didn't even want, suffered long periods without rest or proper victuals, _on foot_ no less, and on top if it all, he was still damp from the downpour the previous day... If he got his hands on that woman alive, he'd make her pay every second of her miserable life for this.

The Captain came up to Fin, breaking his sullen thoughts, and said quietly, unable to meet the man's eyes, "The beast has taken her, Finrael. I'm sorry."

He fought hard not to roll his eyes. "I _know_ he has taken her. That is why we have been running after them for four...," he snapped mulishly.

"I mean," the Captain interjected, "he has _taken_ her. She must have tried to hide her shame, but Maklin found the blood."

Finrael's mouth worked around several expressions before settling forcibly on a ghoulish smile of disbelief, he hoped. He shook his head in denial. "No, he is mistaken. She is a fighter. She stopped him before."

The Captain shook his head, glancing back at the distraught tracker as he grimly continued searching the ground. "There was no fight. She must have been terrified. Maklin thinks he's maybe six, seven feet tall, judging by...," he paused, swallowing hard. "Just all around big and vicious. I don't know what interrupted him last time, but it didn't happen again."

"Then...then he will pay double a king's ransom," Finrael snarled, clenching his fists.

"That he will," the Captain agreed.


	7. There's Got to be a Morning After

Ufhau loped ahead of Kara, his sense of urgency so great he dared not halt for more than the briefest of rests. He anticipated that their descent over the next day or two would deposit them somewhat south of the borders of Lothlorien. It wasn't a place he wanted to be anywhere near, but the mountain passes seemed to be driving them in that direction.

Then what? he asked himself. She said she'd follow him to the ends of the earth, little suspecting that might be where he would go in his desperation to evade their hunters. Assuming she still wished to.

There had been blood when he took her; some drops fell in the dirt. Even in the darkness of the hollow, he could tell her eyes were squeezed shut throughout the ordeal. Yet she had accepted his post-coital embrace, the nuzzling against her neck, the slow stroking of her soft, curvy body... Though her arms came back up to shield her breasts, and she trembled in his arms. Upon waking, she wouldn't look at him as they pulled their damp clothing back on, didn't say a word as she stared silently at the evidence of their union. She made no effort to hide it.

It made him angry. He had clearly given her pleasure, regardless of the whimpering some of his... attentions... generated. But he'd stopped using his teeth and claws when she expressed discomfort, so what was the problem?

That odd, whispering voice in the back of his head that guided him during the night had no answers for him this morning, it seemed.

"Ufhau," Kara called behind him. "Please, I must stop for a moment."

Even the sound of her voice speaking his name filled him with an aching need.

Slowing to a halt, he turned and waited for her to catch up. Once within reach, he pulled her against him and kissed her. Kara stiffened in his arms for a moment, and he almost let her go, but to his surprise, she relaxed. He sighed with pleasure, feeling her mold against his body so readily, her hands clutching his jerkin, her lips parting.

"I stop to catch my breath, and you steal it back," she admonished when he finally released her.

"I take what I can get," he grunted with amusement, and not a little relief. "There will not be another chance like last night anytime soon."

She flushed shyly and sank onto a fallen tree trunk. "You surprised me."

"I did not. You saw me coming," he teased.

"No," she replied quietly. "You were...gentle."

He joined her on the log, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her close. She rested her head on his shoulder. "I surprised myself," he confessed. "It is not the way orcs mate. At least, I don't think it is." Shrugging, he chuckled. "Perhaps I should have asked those _snaga_ more questions, eh?"

"You seemed to know what you were doing," she said so softly he had to strain to hear. "Have you never...mated before?"

"No," he said. "Not what you might call 'mating,' anyway. Though I have been inside many women in many different ways." He felt her cringe and shudder against him, start to pull away. He reluctantly loosed his hold. "I am an orc, Kara. We were at war. It was...expected of us. Demanded of us. Anything to weaken our enemy's resolve."

"You took pleasure in it," she said as she slid from his side and hugged herself protectively. Her eyes were fixed on the ground.

"Yes," he growled through gritted teeth. "I did. I took pleasure in killing, too. Did a lot more of that, I promise you."

"Then why...?" she asked, faltering, her skin flaring up in all the places he had explored so avidly.

Ufhau shrugged. "I do not know." Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, furrowing his brow in thought. "I only know one way to take a female. But...you...are different," he finished lamely.

"How am I different?" she asked, glancing at him with a frown.

Ufhau shifted uncomfortably. No words were coming to him, so he just shrugged again. He was not accustomed to examining his thoughts or behavior.

"What are _snaga_?" she asked suddenly.

"Orcs," he replied, relieved at the change in subject, "like those pathetic excuses who raided your farm. Not like Uruk-hai. That is what I am," he said proudly.

She looked at him carefully, as if she'd only realized the difference now that he mentioned it. "You don't look very much like them. You're more...man-like."

He snorted. "No need to insult me."

"You are not so ugly as the others."

Ufhau raised an eyebrow and slowly looked at her. She had turned a little toward him again, and was glancing up at him shyly before ducking behind the curtain of her hair.

"Better looking in the dark, though," he grunted. He was relieved there was only a tiny trace of bitterness in his tone. "Spared you a fright, I'm sure."

"I could still see you," she said softly.

Ufhau chuckled. "Obviously not very well." Grimacing slightly, he said stiffly, "Probably helped. You could... think of your butcher. Make it easier."

"My butcher?" she asked slowly.

"The man you told me of," Ufhau growled. Just thinking of that man right now, not only sharing his bed with this woman but invading their conversation, set his guts to boiling.

"Oh!" she said, realization dawning. "I forgot about him. At least, I tried to, but you kept mentioning him. It was... disturbing."

Ufhau blinked. "I thought... did you not wish he held you instead of me?"

She laughed. She actually laughed at him. "Ufhau, did you think I required a lie to accept you?" At his blank expression, she shook her head. "I have known you would... have your way from the moment I laid eyes on you. It was just a question of when. It seemed a small price to pay for my freedom."

"I was right, then," he snarled, infuriated and humiliated by her words in equal measure. "You _expected_ it. Because I am an orc and it is _expected_ of my kind. Tell me, did you desire the _snaga_ cocks up your backside as well?"

He heard her take a deep, shuddering breath. For some reason, he was put in mind of a catapult being cranked down for firing.

"How _dare_ you?" she exploded, rising off the log and rounding on him, fists on her hips. She was furious; he could almost feel the wave of heat blow over him, nearly knocking him backwards. "I did not want it from you _or_ them! Had I desired ' _snaga_ cocks up my backside,' I wouldn't have run like the hounds of hell were at my heels! But _you_ , you insufferable, ill-mannered brute... For all that you frightened me every time you looked in my direction, or spoke to me like an angry beast, or yelled at me for not running fast enough to suit you, you... you...," she faltered, seeming to have run out of steam. "You helped me," she continued brokenly, shoulders once set so rigidly now sagging. "You could have left me behind, but you didn't. You could have... forced... your attentions... but you did not. I began to see you... differently."

Once more, her face and neck flared like a beacon. Ufhau sat in shock, her words and the completely unexpected delivery still making his mind reel. Temper. She had a _temper_ to rival his own. It was a strangely arousing thought.

"So...," he ventured tentatively, "you... did not desire your butcher's touch instead of mine?"

"No, I did not," she replied softly.

"You...did not think of him..."

"Only when you kept bringing him up. It was damned annoying." A tiny smile began to tease the corners of her mouth, and she glanced at him from beneath her eyelashes. "How are you different from _snaga_? Besides being taller. And stronger. And..." Her gaze flicked downward. "...larger?"

His face slowly split with a lecherous grin. "Sunlight does not harm me. I can go all day and all night." Rising, he took hold of her hips to draw her close, leaning down to capture her mouth once more. Her hand gently stroked his cheek and jaw.

"We must see about that," she murmured.

Affecting mock indignation, he growled, "I will not be pleased if you wish to compare."

"My other orc lovers will be so disappointed."

"Let them be," he whispered. "I protect what is mine. They will not touch you."

They embraced in companionable silence for several minutes, foreheads pressed together, before Ufhau reluctantly dragged them both from all too brief contentment into the harsh reality of running for their lives.


	8. Interlude 4: What the Eyes Can't See

"Stopped here, turned," Maklin muttered under his breath as he examined yet another set of prints in the soft mud of a clearing. It was almost as if the beast _wanted_ them to clearly see the liberties he took with the woman now that he'd... The tracker winced, unwilling to even finish the thought. Never having met Kara, he could only envision his own sister in the clutches of that monster, screaming for help that was too far behind to aid her, or lying limp from terror, unable to defend herself.

His stomach clenched. At every stop, the orc seemed to grab her and hold her close. Sometimes Maklin could see the telltale sign of her toe dragging a furrow in the dirt as she was forced to endure the creature's embrace.

The impressions in the dry dusty earth of the hollow haunted his dreams. The beast had been all over her body. The tracker's stomach lurched for a moment when he recalled the clear indication of her form, and the claw marks from the beast's bare feet, describing a position that would put the orc's head at the juncture of her legs...

"More of the same?" his Captain said quietly, hovering over him. Maklin nodded wordlessly. The man gripped his shoulder reassuringly and stepped away again.

"Is...is she still alive?" Finrael asked anxiously.

"Evidently," the Captain replied. "Probably wishes she wasn't."

Maklin glanced over his shoulder at the distraught fiancé. There was a flicker of something in the man's face that made the tracker's eyes narrow. Surely not. Maklin shook his head. He must be tired. Finrael was just as worn out as the rest of them. But for just a moment...why, he looked almost...

Smug.


	9. Resistance is Futile

He'd held out for as long as he could, but once that wall was breeched, the obstacle overcome, his vow was meaningless. Not that Ufhau truly believed it still applied anymore.

Stolen kisses at each rest stop turned lengthier in duration. Simple embraces became exploratory missions, driving his need for Kara to dizzying heights. Twice they found themselves collapsing to the ground, locked in feverish and desperate embrace.

The third time it didn't stop. Knowing their hunters would gain ground on them for every second they were not in motion gave intensity to their coupling. He strained every muscle in his body, trying to give her as much as he could as quickly as possible before spending himself. It wasn't easy holding back; he had awakened a lioness in his Kara when he claimed her.

She clawed his hide. She writhed beneath him, rocking her hips in time with his rhythm. Her cries drove him harder, deeper, faster, at her commands. Her own explorations discovered parts of his body he never knew could be so wildly stimulated. The simple sensation of her tongue caressing the ridges of his ears nearly unmade him.

The descent toward Lothlorien was a blur for Ufhau. They were running on fear-induced adrenalin, for though the hunters were still a fair distance behind, the orc could smell them now. Resting was difficult, as their shared passion could not always be tamed. One or the other would initiate it with a look or a touch, and most of the time completion was unavoidable. Once he even took her standing up against a tree, thrusting so hard into her the upper branches swayed. He worried he'd hurt her, but for her breathless _giggling_.

They halted at a stream, likely one that fed eventually into the Nimrodel still below them. Kara sat down and removed her boots, then dangled her weary feet in the cold water. Ufhau refilled their water skins.

"How close are they now?" she asked, watching the ripples of water around her splashing toes.

"Too close," he grunted. "We waste much time dallying. They will catch me inside you if we are careless."

"I hope you are not blaming me," she admonished lightly.

Grinning, he corked the skins and packed them. "No. It's my fault. I cannot resist you."

"Nor I you," she said softly.

Groaning, he shook his head. "Do not look at me like that. We must keep moving."

"Very well," she pouted. Slipping her boots back on, she held her hands out to him. Knowing exactly how it would end, he sighed with resignation and pulled her to her feet. As expected, she all but flung herself into his arms, finding his mouth easily, as one would a familiar landmark. Ufhau allowed himself to sink into her for a moment, just one more sweet moment, before disengaging. She sighed with disappointment, but accepted his wise rejection.

And they continued on.

* * *

Maklin retched. Until this moment, he had been able to avoid envisioning the horrifying violations the poor woman must be experiencing. It was one thing to say it, or even think it. Quite another to see the evidence so clear and irrefutable.

He'd never seen an orc's seed spilled until this moment, but there was no doubt in his mind that was what he was looking at. Frequently. Nearly at every place they stopped. Once so close to the base of a tree, his mind went to a very unholy place. He could clearly make out the impressions of the orc's booted feet, braced apart, but no sign of Kara. The orc's prints were deeper than usual, as if he held her aloft...

The tracker stopped calling the Captain's attention to the signs. He just didn't have the stomach for it anymore.

* * *

The mountains gave way to foothills, forest to grasslands. Ufhau stared ahead of them, frustrated by a new problem. Off to the left, the golden-leaved branches of _mallorn_ trees marked the borders of Lothlorien. Ahead, a sweeping plain of tall grasses, infrequently broken by small copses of trees and rocky outcroppings.

No cover, as far as the eye could see. They were still very far from the Great River Anduin; he couldn't see how they would safely cross almost a hundred miles out in the open, even if their pursuers had abandoned their horses on the other side of the Misty Mountains.

To the south, further than Lothlorien in the north, he could just make out the dark line of Fangorn Forest. It was not a place of refuge by any stretch, but a damn sight more welcoming than the Golden Wood.

Kara leaned wearily against him, and he automatically embraced her. "I should have left you behind," he growled. "This is killing you."

"I'll not let you abandon me," she replied.

"For your own good, Kara," he said seriously, turning to her.

Before he could present a reasonable argument, her mouth firmed, and her brow furrowed. "You no longer wish to be alone, and I can't bear it either. We stay together. I'll have no one else but you, Ufhau. No one."

He closed his eyes, humbled by her words. "You by my side. That is more than I deserve."

"Speak no more of leaving me," she said, gently stroking his cheek. "I'll hear none of it."

Returning his attention to the path ahead, he decided familiarity was the best course. He knew the western border region of Fangorn far better than Wilderland to the north. Perhaps the trees that walked there would spare him if they saw his mate.

His heart fluttered and his loins rippled pleasantly. Ufhau could not deny the thought or avoid it any longer. He would have no one else but Kara either. No one.

* * *

Days on end with nothing but hastily snared and dressed rabbits to eat. The increasingly noisome funk of sweaty men in mail armor, in too much haste to stop long enough for a wash. His own stench offending his nostrils.

Finrael knew where hell was; he was hiking through it now. Every moment was torture. Every mile was just one more he'd have to travel _back_ through to get home. Even the promise of the increased wealth and prestige absorbing Kara's farmlands would grant was beginning to sour as he suffered.

What kept him going? If he was just keeping up appearances, he may as well hang it up now. Let them be disgusted with his faithlessness. He would drown any sorrows their opinions generated in expensive ale, hot food, warm wenches, and comfortable bedding.

No, what kept him on the hunt was the promise of vengeance. The woman he despised _must_ be doing this on purpose. She was likely bedding the orc willingly, conspiring with him to aggravate Finrael specifically. Oh, how he would punish her for that!

* * *

They no longer needed Maklin's sharp eyes on the ground when they caught sight of their elusive quarry far ahead. The Captain urged the men to a last dash, and all drew forth their bows, readying arrows for firing on the run. Distance prevented them from getting a clear shot, but that would not last.

A new thought entered Finrael's mind as he prepared his own weapon. A certain end to this entire affair, and one that he could hardly be blamed for. After all, that was his _fiancée_ , he was _distraught_. Desperate, even. Halting suddenly, he let fly an arrow toward the dark smudges racing before them, not caring which one he might hit.

"What are you doing?" the Captain cried in alarm. "Wait until we can see them! You might strike Kara!"

Finrael resumed the chase, a smirk on his face.

* * *

The arrow whistled past Ufhau's head, barely missing him. He reached over, trying to make a grab for Kara's hand, pull her along as he increased his speed, but she wasn't at his side. She'd dropped behind.

* * *

Once more, Finrael stopped and drew a bead on them. This time, his arrow flew straight and true. One figure went down.

Before the Captain could yell at him again, the air was rent by a thunderous roar. The guards faltered for a moment, then closed the distance. The howling went on for several moments, before choking off in anguish.

The Captain slowed to a stop. Kneeling in the tall grass, the orc was cradling the woman's limp body against his chest. Finrael's arrow was embedded in her back, had pierced her below the shoulder blade. The back of her tunic was soaked with blood, blood that ran over the clawed hands of the orc. The creature's shoulders rose and fell rapidly with his heaving breaths.

As his men dispersed to surround the orc, he held a hand up, and they stayed the killing blow. They were uncertain, cautious. This wasn't what they expected to find at the end of the chase.

It wasn't that the orc hadn't taken advantage of the woman's fall to escape, nor was it that his face was pressed against hers, or that he was rocking on his heels, murmuring her name as he stroked her hair with a bloody hand. All that was quite enough to shock the battle-hardened soldiers.

It was the tears that streamed unchecked down the orc's face, the grief-stricken expression that told of pain not one man among them had not felt at one time or another, that held them transfixed. The Captain lowered his sword.

Behind him, someone began to laugh.


	10. Hearts and Minds

Whirling, the Captain stared at Finrael. The man was laughing, wild-eyed, clutching the bow in one hand, pointing at the fallen woman and the Uruk with the other.

"I knew it!" he shrieked. "That harlot! She bewitched it! Look at them!"

"Finrael!" the Captain cried, hesitantly taking a step toward the hysterical man. "Think what you are saying!" Turning to his men, he pointed at the orc. "Take his weapons." Two guards gingerly relieved the unresisting Ufhau of his sword and long knife.

"Open your eyes! Ask your tracker what he saw!" Finrael threw down his bow and advanced on Maklin, standing stricken within the ring of bewildered guards. "You did not see her resist because she _didn't_! The Valar guided my hand; it is a _mercy_. Sparing my honor from _her_ sullying my bed..."

As he railed, Ufhau slowly lowered his mate to the ground, carefully arranging Kara on her side to avoid further damage, for she still clung to life.

"Captain...," one of the guards warned, then there was a flurry of movement as the guards closed in to prevent the enraged Uruk from charging Finrael. He strained against their arms, tossing one or two of them several yards away in the process. His ferocious roar echoed across the grasslands. Finrael took several terrified steps backwards. The guards held Ufhau's arms, his chest, even his legs, until finally, after dragging the men with him a few feet, they piled on, driving him face down into the turf. Though Ufhau knew it was pointless, he still fought, still tried to rise, still sought vengeance while he yet drew breath.

"Stop it, stop it!" the tracker cried. "She's still alive!"

Everything quieted. The Captain hauled one of his men off the Uruk. "Go to the Golden Wood. I don't care what story you tell, but get a healer here if one can be found. Not all the elves have left us." Shoving the man on his way, he turned to Maklin. "Can you remove the arrow without making it worse?"

"I can try, sir," he replied, kneeling beside the woman. Too many thoughts were flooding the tracker's mind at once; he could barely focus on the task at hand. She was unmarred. He would have thought...all the things he'd seen...she should be bruised at least. Her clothing should have been all but destroyed by the beast's apparently frequent assaults. And the strange behavior of the orc... He had never thought such an emotion as grief possible among their kind. Then when the creature attacked, he went straight for Finrael, ignoring half a dozen guards who were much closer, and only after the foolish man admitted it was his hand that brought Kara down. As if the orc...

He shook his head firmly. That was just _not_ possible.

The Captain crouched by the orc's head. There were now only four guards holding him down, but he seemed spent for the time being. Still, the creature's eyes were full of malice. The man swallowed hard.

"You should have let her be, orc," he said quietly. There was no answer. "We have no choice now, you know."

"Promise me," Ufhau growled suddenly, his harsh voice betraying his despair. "Promise me you will heal her. Promise you will let me see her eyes open, that I know she is well. Then you may do your 'duty.' I will not fight you."

Startled, the Captain looked up and met the equally surprised eyes of the tracker. The Captain suddenly felt very uncomfortable about his 'duty,' as the orc put it.

"Let him up," he said to the guards. Hesitantly, with not a few glances to make sure they heard their orders correctly, the four men stood, leaving the Uruk to slowly shift to a seated position on the ground. Though his yellow eyes took hold of Finrael and would not release the man from their baleful gaze, he made no threatening movements.

"What...," Finrael said. "What is this? That thing raped my betrothed and tried to kill me! And you're letting it go?"

The Captain was still regarding the orc uncertainly, and caught the creature's pained wince at Finrael's description of his deed. Hanging his head, the orc drew a long, shuddering breath, and let it out slowly. Maklin saw it too.

"Orc," the tracker said quietly. "Did you...force her?"

A sneer curled Ufhau's lip. Glaring at the man, he snarled, "What did your eyes tell you, tracker?"

"I'm...not sure now," Maklin replied, looking away.

Tearing his gaze from the orc, the Captain turned on Finrael. "You have much to answer for. Your recklessness may cost that woman her life."

"She is the whore of an orc," the man sneered. "It is a kindness."

"I do not understand you," the Captain said, shaking his head in bewilderment. "She is your betrothed. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Finrael looked startled for a moment, blinking rapidly. "Fuh...forgive me," he said quietly. "It has been a...I am weary and not thinking clearly."

"Captain!" Maklin cried. He had carefully worked the arrow out. It wasn't even a proper arrow; simply a target shaft with a very small head. But she had stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

The Captain knelt beside the tracker and looked down at the woman. She was trembling from the pain. A thin trickle of blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Small it may have been, but the arrow had enough force behind it to pierce her lung.

"Ufhau," she whispered.

The men exchanged glances, then looked at the orc. His gaze was fixed on Kara, clearly wanting to go to her, but wary of the guards' vigilant watchfulness.

Maklin leaned closer as her lips moved, her voice all but lost. After a few moments, the tracker leaned back on his heels and stared off into space in disbelief. Shaking himself, he met the Captain's eyes.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"She said...," Maklin began, and faltered. Glancing at the Uruk, he noted the intensity of the creature's stare, as if he hung on every breath the woman took. "She begged us to spare the orc. She said... _she_ captured _him_."

The Captain blinked, uncomprehending. "What?"

"That is all," the tracker said, shaking his head. "She has drifted off again."

Turning to the orc, the Captain just stared at him for a moment. The orc's eyes were squeezed shut, head bowed. Grief had assailed him again at the tracker's words.

"Orc," the Captain said quietly. The only response he got was the flicking of the orc's ears. He was at a loss for words. "What does this mean?"

Struggling to speak, his voice broken, Ufhau replied, "It means...nothing. I took her...for...for...sss... _sport_." He spat the last word out, then shuddered, choking, unable to look at the men. "She is blameless."

Maklin had never seen anyone lie so badly. One glance from his Captain told him they were in agreement on that score at least.

Minutes dragged by in silence, interrupted by the approach of swift feet. The guard dispatched to Lothlorien was already returning, a group of Eldar flowing silently in his wake.

"A hunting party, sir!" the guard cried breathlessly. "They saw the chase and came quickly."

Relieved to have something else to worry about besides the dying woman and the orc, the Captain rose to greet the newcomers. "We welcome any aid you can give. She is here." He gestured toward Kara. One of the elves advanced and gracefully knelt by her. Glancing up, he coolly met the orc's gaze, saw the creature's nose wrinkle and lip curl with disgust. Then he turned his attention to the woman.

"Your man's tale does not seem to be true," another elf said softly. The Captain looked up. "We saw the creature descend from the pass with the woman, pursued by you and your men-at-arms. Surely, if one of your women was abducted, you would have slain the beast by now. Yet something stays your hand."

Taking a deep breath and glancing back at the orc, who had not once taken his eyes away from the woman's form, or the elf tending her, the Captain said, "We are not entirely certain..." His discomfort increased as he lowered his voice and leaned toward the elf. "Have you...in all your years, with all your wisdom, ever known an orc to...to weep?"

The elf's eyebrows arched with surprise. "Never. But this one is undoubtedly of Saruman's making. We do not have full knowledge of his methods, of what races he mixed. It is possible the...gentler traits of men may exist within them. The ability to weep..."

"The ability to love," Maklin said without thinking. Ufhau looked up at the tracker. He wasn't familiar with the word, but it seemed to be nearly sacred, the way the men went quiet at its utterance. Maklin met his gaze, and Ufhau sensed that he and the man had come to an understanding.

"Indeed?" the elf said. His calm demeanor seemingly cracked for a moment. Recovering himself, the elf continued, "Nevertheless, there is the matter of abduction, is there not?"

Again, the Captain shifted uncomfortably. "That is no longer clear either. The only crimes we can be sure of are the murder of her parents...which he did not commit...and her wounding."

Finrael shook himself out of his fog, puffing up with indignation. "It was an accident!" he roared. "I might have just as easily shot the orc as her at such a distance. In fact, _she_ moved! I was aiming for the beast, and she moved behind it."

Ufhau began to shake as it came back to him. Kara must have seen the first arrow. She dropped back, he remembered. Cursed girl, she blocked him from the second! She sacrificed herself. For him. A low moan began to rumble up within him, building in intensity until he was howling, hugging his knees and rocking on his haunches.

The men and elves stopped speaking, turning their attention to the orc in alarm. They had never seen his kind grieve. Tearing his gaze away for a moment, the Captain fixed Finrael with a harsh glare. "You should not have fired _at all_ , until you were sure of your target. We were gaining on them; an opportunity would have presented itself soon enough."

Maklin shook his head. He had listened well. He had taken the time to think it through. Little things came back to him... things that seemed insignificant at the time.

"He did it on purpose," the tracker said slowly. Every head turned to him. Finrael exploded.

"I did not! I was distraught! She is my betrothed! I have seen the evidence of that beast's vile treatment for a week! I wanted it _dead_!"

"No," Maklin said quietly. "You called her whore. You said slaying her was a kindness. That her deeds stained your honor."

"You did say that," the Captain snarled dangerously, rounding on the sputtering man. "Distraught, were you? What other lies have you told?"

"I've told no lies!" Finrael shrieked, his gaze darting from one hostile pair of eyes to the next. "It is the orc who has lied!"

Again, Maklin shook his head. Crossing his arms over his chest, he said grimly, "The only lie he has told is that he abused her."

"If I may?" the elf interjected smoothly. "I begin to see. You believed an abduction took place. You pursued. Now you have come to the end of the chase, and find that not all is as it seemed." Turning to Finrael, he said, "Do you care for the woman?"

Feeling the tide turning against him, Finrael was distracted, desperately trying to discover a way out. His reply was unguarded. "Not in the slightest."

The elf's eyebrows rose. Too late, Finrael realized his mistake. His eyes widened in fear.

"Arrest him," the Captain said with disgust. A guard stepped forward and grimly took hold of Finrael's arm. "You are fortunate I don't leave you at the orc's mercy."

"Kara said he wanted the farm," Ufhau said dully. An eerie calm had taken over him. Offended as he was by the elven hands tending his mate, he could at least see results. Her breathing was stronger. Her color was returning to normal.

Maklin and the Captain exchanged another look, then both leveled a glare at Finrael.

"If I find you arranged for those orcs to attack the farm...," the Captain hissed.

" _That_ is most definitely a lie!" Finrael cried, shaking all over. "I had nothing to do with it."

Curling his lip and finally taking his eyes off his woman to glower at the man, Ufhau snarled, "It was good fortune, then, that they came, was it not? Perhaps with the family out of the way, you could take the land without having to wed the daughter."

Finrael looked stricken. His stunned silence all but sealed his guilt.

"It is a pity," Ufhau went on, "that she was saved from death. You were forced to 'rescue' her. How you must have suffered." His voice was laced with venom.

"That is enough, orc," the Captain said quietly. Meeting the orc's gaze, he gave a brief nod.

Trying once more to rally, Finrael said through clenched teeth, "I believe you have all lost sight of the fact that my...that _Kara_ was taken by an _orc_. That she was _violated_ by an _orc_. That said _orc_ sits before you, unarmed, begging to be slain for its deeds." Appealing to Maklin, he said, "You read the signs. How many times did they make you vomit? Yet you stand there _defending_ it?"

The tracker swallowed uncomfortably. His eyes met the unwavering gaze of the orc. "My eyes were deceived. I saw...what I expected to see. I did not see the truth."

Ufhau took a deep breath and let it out slowly, bowing his head.

"Ufhau."

Every head turned at the sound of Kara's voice, little more than a whisper on the wind. This time, the orc didn't care what the men did to him. He rose and hastened to her, absently pushing the elf healer out of the way. Leaning down, he gently brushed her hair from her face.

"I am here, my lady."


	11. Interlude 5: Farewell, Sweet Love

"I am here," Ufhau murmured, gently stroking Kara's hair.

"You are... alive," she whispered, eyes shimmering with relief. "I feared..."

"Ssshh," he said. "Are you well?"

She nodded weakly. Her hand trembled as she reached up to take his. "I am now."

His voice shook. "You must... go with them. They... they will care for you."

Kara's face fell, and she shook her head. "No. You will not abandon me. Not now."

"You think I would _willingly_ leave you?" he said, forcing himself to smile. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, the only gesture he felt remotely safe making in front of the _tarks_ and _golug-hai_. "I knew this would have to be."

A sob tore from her throat. "I am _so_ sorry, Ufhau," she breathed. She held his hand tightly, unwilling to let him go. "This is my fault. I was selfish. I... should have..."

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"If I had listened... If I had let you go your way..."

"Hush," he admonished gently. "You gave me... a purpose... again," he said thickly. Clenching his jaw against the raw emotions fighting to surface, he said, "You gave me... more than I deserved."

"I would have followed you to the ends of the earth."

He squeezed his eyes shut, felt tears leaking down his face. "I would have taken you there."

"Ufhau," she said, and he pressed his finger to her lips.

"Close your eyes, and do not listen."


	12. All That is Gold Does Not Glitter

Ufhau released Kara's hand, letting it slip slowly, reluctantly from his fingers. He could no longer look her in the eyes. Standing, he approached the Captain, then knelt before him.

"I am ready," he said stiffly, holding the stricken man's gaze with his own. He was Fighting Uruk-hai. He would face his death bravely. "End it quickly. For her sake." He clasped his hands behind his back.

The Captain didn't even draw his sword. He looked at Maklin helplessly, and shook his head. "I... I can't."

"Nor can I," the tracker replied.

The elf who had healed the woman knelt beside her again, stroking her shoulder as she wept.

"I have never seen...," the elf lord said quietly, staring at Ufhau. The orc couldn't mask the instinctive hostility such scrutiny inspired, and curled his lip in disgust. Whatever momentary weakness had afflicted the _tarks_ would no doubt be overcome in due time. He had only to wait.

"I am bound by my duty," the Captain said slowly. "But... no wrong was committed." He seemed almost startled by this revelation. He laughed uneasily. "How often does one say such things of an orc?"

Ufhau released a little of his tension, enough to sit back on his heels. Looking around at the faces of those whom he had taken for his executioners, he was surprised to see more confusion and uncertainty than hatred. He was suddenly very tired, and his shoulders slumped. If they were not going to kill him right away, could they at least let him sleep?

"It is custom to slay the servants of the Enemy when they are found," the elf lord said, his voice as gentle as if he were soothing a frightened doe. "I understand your hesitance, in this case. Perhaps..." He paused for a moment, then consulted with one of the other elves in their lilting language.

"I do not believe you deserve death," Maklin said quietly next to the orc. Ufhau turned sharply to him, and stared in disbelief. "Not for this, anyway," he amended. "We do not know what other things you may have done that deserve such punishment, but at least where Kara is concerned..." He shook his head. "She would not weep for you if you had abused her."

"I served my master's will, and did not pay what was due," Ufhau said in an undertone, his voice harsh with bitterness. Looking away, he growled, "Such debt only grows. It is past time I paid."

Maklin exchanged a look of sadness with the Captain. "Orc... Ufhau. Do you... love her?"

"It makes no difference," he replied hollowly.

The tracker looked up at the elves, scanned the sympathetic faces of the men, lingered for a disgusted moment on Finrael, wallowing in self-pity, then settled on Kara's trembling form. She continued to weep as if her heart were breaking.

All at once, like a blow to the chest, Maklin was stricken by the unfairness. It just wasn't _right_. How many tales were told, ballads sung, of lovers' sacrifices to be together? Beren and Luthien came immediately to mind, followed swiftly by Elessar and Arwen of Gondor. True, none of them were orcs, but... if even _one orc_ could know love, should such a thing be destroyed? Should not gentleness in their kind be rewarded, nurtured, instead of driven out as if they were not worthy of it? And who among them had the right to judge worthiness, when one of their own deceived them so? The tracker shuddered at the thought of what may have befallen Kara had she not run from Finrael. Even the company of an orc must have held more appeal, he thought grimly.

"We have decided," the elf lord finally said, addressing the men, "that this case must be brought before Celeborn for judgment. He yet remains in Lothlórien." Turning to the surprised captain, the elf bowed. "If it is not inconvenient...," he said expectantly.

"No, of course not," the Captain replied. Glancing at his men, he went on, "We are weary from a long chase."

"The hospitality of my lord will be extended to all," the elf lord said with another bow. Turning to Ufhau, he said, "You will of course understand that we cannot allow you to walk freely in our land. We will halt at the border and appeal to Celeborn for your passage. If it is not allowed, I am afraid you must remain behind. You will be well attended."

The entire idea of going anywhere near the elves' wood was appallingly unattractive to Ufhau. Still, he was not so dumbfounded by the notion that he couldn't guess what 'well attended' likely meant.

It was a strange procession that marched northward to the border of Lothlórien. The elves led, followed by the men. Mixed in with the men, the tall figure of Ufhau strode, Kara in his arms. Some paces behind the orc, Finrael sulkily shuffled. He was bound, where the orc was not, and looked thoroughly put out by this development. Ufhau and Kara, however, gave little thought to the man's predicament, so grateful were they for the unexpected reprieve.

Kara embraced him tightly, as if a breath of wind would take him from her. He held her with similar possessiveness, eyes staring over the heads of the men, past those of the elves. The golden-leaved trees were getting uncomfortably close. Maklin walked beside them, occasionally glancing over with sympathetic eyes. It took almost two hours to reach the eaves.

An elf had run ahead to inform the Lord of Lórien of his approaching guests, and was awaiting their arrival. Bowing to the elf lord at the head of the procession, he spoke quietly to him. Raising his eyebrows with surprise, the elf lord turned to the Captain.

"It would seem that my lord has consented to allow the orc passage, though he must be bound and blindfolded. I am afraid you and your men must also be blindfolded. Such is the custom of our folk."

"We gladly consent," the Captain said with a bow. "It is an honor to be received by one so great as Celeborn."

Ufhau most definitely did _not_ consent, and snarled threateningly at the elf who sought to cover his eyes. Stepping back, the elf appealed to his lord, whose brow creased with annoyance.

"Ufhau," Kara softly admonished, "let them blindfold you."

"I do not trust them," he growled.

"Do this for me," she insisted sternly. Though her voice was nowhere near its prior strength, he nevertheless could not disobey. Reluctantly, he allowed her to be removed from his arms, and stood stiffly as they bound his arms behind him and wrapped a cloth about his head.

It was worse than the troll cave, and he breathed deeply, switching full attention to his sense of smell. He noted where everyone was, particularly Kara. They would not spirit her away from him without his knowledge.

Passing beneath the sweet-smelling _mallorn_ trees almost distracted Ufhau from focusing on his mate's scent. It occurred to him that he was likely the only orc ever to walk in the elves' wood with their permission. He was humbled by the thought as much as confused by it.

Eventually, the procession halted. Ufhau's ears flicked and twitched as he picked up the voices of many elves at varying distances, speaking in their haughty language. He grimaced. Then he scented one of them coming close to him, and he stiffened.

"Orc," the soft voice spoke. "Lord Celeborn will see you on the morrow. For now, there is rest and refreshment. I will unbind you. Do nothing to provoke us, for you are surrounded and cannot escape."

He gave a short nod, and allowed the hated _golug_ hands to touch him once more. When the cloth was lifted from his eyes, he was dumbstruck for several minutes. He gazed around him in open-mouthed wonder.

Though the group was gathered among several pavilions in a glade upon the ground, it was clear the elves of Lothlórien did not live in that manner. Delicate stairs spiraled up into the thick, golden-leafed boughs of the trees to platforms, many joined above by graceful bridges.

The orc knew no words to describe such beauty. Perhaps a month ago, he wouldn't have tried to find any. A month ago, he might have set torches to the fragile-seeming architecture without a second thought.

Enraptured, he was startled by a hand slipping into his, and looked down into Kara's eyes.

"It is beautiful," she said unnecessarily, likewise marveling at what the elves had wrought. Shaking himself, Ufhau remembered that he was deep in enemy territory, that he had only to close his eyes and they would be upon him.

"Rest, and be content," their elf guide said gently. "You may refresh yourselves in yonder pool. It is, alas, chill at this time of year, but it will serve."

The Captain turned to Kara. "How do you fare, my lady?"

"I am well."

He shook his head. "The elves are wonders with injuries, there can be no doubt." He glanced up at the orc's stern expression. "I suspect... you are more weary than any of us. If you wish to bathe in private, we shall wait until you are finished."

"I am, and I do. Thank you, Captain." She turned shyly to Ufhau. "I... should do so... alone. I will not take long."

Ufhau watched her walk away in the direction the elf indicated. He longed for a good wash as well, and suspected he would have to join the men in their ablutions. Not exactly how he preferred it, but for now, he knew that each moment he remained alive pleased him as much as it baffled him.

"Ufhau," the tracker said, surprising the orc. "Sit." He gestured toward one of the pavilions and led the way. The Captain was already seated, waiting for them.

Awkward and suspicious, Ufhau joined them. He accepted the food they offered him, doing his level best not to tear at it like a beast in his hunger.

"It is... clear... that there is affection between you," the Captain said, his cheeks coloring slightly. "The... intimacies you shared... were also clear." He swallowed under the orc's defiant glare. "I would ask... for the sake of decency... that you... restrain yourself... while we are here."

"You need not fear such... displays," Ufhau growled. "I would not give the _golug-hai_ further reason to slay me."

"To be honest," Maklin said, chewing thoughtfully on a crust of bread, "I do not believe they intend to kill you."

The Captain's eyebrows rose. "You don't?"

"No," the tracker replied. "He has made it _this_ far without an arrow through his heart. If Celeborn did not intend to listen with a clear and open mind, he would have been slain before he crossed the border."

"There is still time for that," Ufhau groused. " _Golug-hai_ do not forget, and do not forgive."

"I will grant you the not forgetting part," Maklin allowed, "but clearly forgiveness is considered. If it were not, you would be dead."

"Forgiveness?" the orc snorted. "I have done nothing to this 'elf lord.'"

"That is likely true, but it is not what I'm talking about." Taking a sip of wine, Maklin elaborated, "His daughter was captured by orcs in the Misty Mountains many centuries ago. It is a well-known tale, in fact."

Ufhau's face fell as the tracker's words sunk in. He began to tremble.

"Ah, the tale of the elf queen," the Captain said, nodding, then shot a look at Ufhau. "How old are you?"

Swallowing, the orc looked away. "Not so old as that. I remember drawing my first breath in Isengard not six years ago."

Both men appeared stunned by this news, and Ufhau arched an eyebrow. "The Uruk-hai are young," he explained. "We were not bred in the same way as the _snaga_ of Mordor."

Maklin flinched at the easy way in which the orc spoke the name of that cursed land, but rallied. "How were you bred, then?"

Ufhau shrugged. "I did not see where we came from before we were buried in the earth, but when we emerged, we were grown." He thumped his chest with a fist. "Strong, ready to fight. We would do our master no good as squalling babes."

The two men exchanged confused looks. "Buried in the earth?" the Captain said slowly.

"Do not ask me why," Ufhau said with a wry chuckle. "I was not close in my Master's council. He was a wizard, and likely had his reasons."

"It is a wonder," the Captain remarked with a frown. "Maklin and I marched to Gondor, called by our lords to defend that country from the Dark Lord's might. We slew many, _many_ orcs in those days. Had any suggested I would later be seated in the Golden Wood, awaiting audience with the great Celeborn himself, sharing meat and drink with an orc, I would have called them mad."

"Aye," Maklin agreed. "Mad indeed."


	13. Interlude 6: The Dark Mirror's Reflection

When his thoughts unsettled him, Celeborn found his wandering feet always led him to his wife's grove, where she once gazed in her Mirror upon the troubles of the world. He stood here now, running his fingers along the rim of the silver basin. The quiet of the garden was broken only by the murmur of a stream wandering by his feet.

"My dearest," he whispered to the wind and the trees, for Galadriel had sailed West with the other Ringbearers, and could not hear him. "Your wisdom would be welcome in this."

How could such a thing happen? There were no precedents, no guides to follow. It was _understood_ that creatures of darkness felt naught but hate, could do nothing but destroy. The Wise had long known this, since the first Dark Lord took those of the Firstborn and ruined them for his own purposes. Celeborn remembered.

This... Ufhau was not one of them, it was true, but he was of their blood. The Elf Lord's men told him the orc was one of Saruman's. This creature, and what memories his presence stirred, made Celeborn shudder. After the War, there was much the _istar_ should have answered for, yet his escape and eventual death prevented such. Many things were learned without the wizard's help, however.

He kept detailed notes, recorded every mating, every mistake, each correction. Saruman wrote of the quality of the females from various tribes and provinces as if they were cattle. Even the Rohirrim did not regard their horses so basely when discussing their breed lines. Saruman had no love for his creations, either, using such words as 'beast' and 'monster' even of those he deemed satisfactory.

Proud of his Fighting Uruk-hai, Saruman clearly was, yet he did not treat them any better than one would a moderately well-crafted tool, if his journals could be believed. Celeborn grimaced in recollection of the descriptions the wizard left behind, of his Uruk-hai and the uses to which he put them.

Their wickedness was legend, their strength unmatched, yet they lacked purpose, and so were destroyed before their like could reach further than Rohan. None mourned their removal from the world. Yet here in Lothlórien stood one of their kind, survivor of the great battle against Rohan and the destruction in the valley of the Isen. How? He should not exist. He should have been slain years before, his bones bleached by the sun.

Worse than the breath he drew was his assault on the woman, Kara, implied by his men. None wished to voice details, and could not look the Lord of Lothlórien in the eyes when delivering their report. They remembered Celebrian's fate, as Celeborn did, too vividly now.

Only once before had the Elf Lord permitted one to enter his domain whose people had committed grievous wrongs, and it was his memory of that gruff dwarf, and Galadriel's favor, that stayed his hand now. It should do little harm in this darkening world to hear words from the shadows. Let him speak, Celeborn mused. Let the creature beg for mercy. Perhaps he would grant it; perhaps not. There was precious little left in Arda to interest or amuse the Lord of Lothlórien these days. Disturbing as his survival was, the beast was a distraction only.

Sighing, Celeborn took up the silver ewer and dipped it in the stream. Though he lacked the vision of Galadriel, she had yet taught him a simple magic ere she departed. So many of the Galadhrim had sailed over the few years since the War's ending, leaving Lothlórien an eerily silent place. Few raised their voices in song, for there were less and less who would answer. The borders had drawn inward as their numbers thinned, and Celeborn had been compelled to mind their defenses in a different way.

He watched, and listened.

Pouring the crystal clear water into the basin, he watched the evening star's light sparkle on the disturbed surface. He waited patiently for the ripples to fade.

The first image to appear within the depths of the Mirror was of the scowling orc, reclining against a tree apart from the men, arms crossed over his broad chest, a wary eye on the men. The creature was unbound, unarmed, and wakeful, though his face showed great weariness. Nearby, the Elf Lord could see movement of the men bedding down for the night, heedless of the enemy beside them. Celeborn frowned, wondering at this.

The slender figure of the woman, Kara, appeared, and the orc's countenance abruptly changed. To the watcher's surprise, the orc's brow smoothed, his mouth curved in a gentle smile ( _gentle_!), and he held out a hand to her. She took it, and allowed him to draw her down beside him. Curling up at his side, she rested her head on his shoulder, her hand upon his breast, and closed her eyes in contentment. The orc enfolded her in the crook of his arm and leaned his cheek against her hair. He, too, closed his eyes.

Celeborn realized his jaw had fallen open at some point, and he hastily shut it. A war seemed to be raging in his mind as he looked on them. On one side, the deep offense of the creature's very existence, the assumptions the Elf Lord made in answer to the halting, incomplete allusions by his men, the humiliations visited upon his own child by such beasts as this one. Yet, on the other, his eyes demanded he acknowledge what lay before him: an orc, to be sure, but one who at least proved himself to _one_ human woman enough for her to embrace him in love.

"Galadriel," he breathed, "what would you make of this, I wonder?"

Celeborn could not see past or future through the Mirror, but he could see the here and now, and he could see thoughts if he concentrated hard enough. Though he was loathe to do it with such a repellent subject, he knew the truth would not come forth if he did not. Orcs were deceitful and cruel; he may have seduced the woman into her current state of trust, but he undoubtedly had a sinister purpose in mind. Such was the way of their kind, no matter the tempering of human blood in this one's making. Humans could be just as coldly calculating, he'd found.

Closing his eyes, the Watcher of the waters delved deeply, pushing past revulsion and steeling himself against the inevitable blackness of the creature's mind. What he saw when he looked staggered him further.

The orc dreamed. There, before Celeborn's eyes, he saw the orc enjoying Kara, embracing her, kissing her, as they made love. He shook himself, but no other words could possibly describe the tenderness of the orc's touch, or the look in Kara's eyes as she returned his affections. Then something altogether unexpected interrupted.

The orc knelt in a village torn asunder by war, Kara in his arms. He curled about her protectively. People and horses ran in terror all around them; fires blazed in every building. The sky was blackened by smoke and flames. Yet where Ufhau and Kara knelt, there was calm. Nearby, several orcs assaulted a woman, her screams deafening as she fought them to no avail. Sated and peering about for more sport, an orc turned away from the group as another took his place, and Celeborn was shocked to see it was _this_ orc, armored and bloodied, but the same. He saw his twin in the midst of such chaos, and strode over to the kneeling figures. Without a word, he grabbed Kara by the hair and yanked her from his own grasp.

This seemed to electrify the kneeling Ufhau, and he attacked his own former self. The battle was fierce; the orcs, past and present, brought teeth and claws to bear in their struggle for dominance. The Elf Lord watched helplessly as the present Ufhau lost ground to his fiercer self. He was forced to his knees, and slowly strangled until he fell limp upon the ground. Then the vicious, past Ufhau turned on the woman with a leer and reached for her...

All at once, the vision ended, and the Mirror showed the orc in the same place, still embracing Kara, yet now fully awake from his nightmare. His breath came fast, and he looked wildly about him, as if expecting to see flames. His grip on Kara tightened, and a pained expression crossed his face. He looked down at her hand upon his chest and covered it with his own, holding on. Kissing the top of Kara's sleeping head, he crumbled, and wept.

Celeborn stepped back from the Mirror and the image faded. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. To say the orc's dream was disconcerting would be an understatement. The Watcher knew he would ponder what he saw well into the night.

Returning his gaze to the Mirror, Celeborn directed his thoughts to the men, wrapped in slumber. Their dreams told him nothing, and he roamed further afield. In one pavilion, there was great anger and foulness. Furrowing his brow, the Watcher approached warily.

It was a man, likely the one his people told him of. He seethed and curled his lip, glaring across the glade at the others. Celeborn felt no urging to view this man's thoughts, and kept his distance, but now he could well understand the confusion of his people, and of the Men. Though a beast lurked within the orc, Ufhau knew of it, its threatening presence frightened him, and he sought to tame it.

Finrael, however, appeared to have embraced the beast, and allowed it to thrive unchecked.


	14. Exit Interview

"I confess, I find you foul to gaze upon," Celeborn said mildly.

A low growl rumbled from Ufhau's throat. "The feeling's mutual, _golug_." He curled his lip in disgust.

The Lord of Lórien turned and glided to an ornate seat beneath a sheltering bough, behind which the trunk of the great mallorn tree grew up through the floor of the wide _talan_. In spite of the walls about the oval chamber, Ufhau felt a shade of vertigo from the dizzying height he had just climbed. He'd expected a trial by combat, or a knife in the dark. Anything but a private interview with the great lord of the _golug-hai_.

"What is it you seek," Celeborn asked when he'd settled, "Ufhau, is it?"

"Aye," the Uruk replied.

"Hmmm. My understanding of your tongue is... weak, at best. In the Common tongue, your name means... 'frightening beggar,' does it not?"

"Likely," Ufhau snarled.

"What would you beg of me, then?" Celeborn asked. "Assuming you are the sort who does so."

"I want peace," the Uruk growled. "I want to be left the fuck alone."

The elf lord's eyebrow arched. "That is all?"

"Aye."

"What of the woman you spirited away from her home? Do you not want her also?"

Ufhau stiffened. _There it is_ , he thought. "I want what I've a right to. What I _can_ have. There is no use wanting what I _can't_ have."

Celeborn steepled his fingers before him, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair. "According to the reports, you _have_ 'had' her. Frequently."

Again, a warning growl sounded in the quiet of the _talan_. "What I can't _keep_ , then."

"Whatever would you want to 'keep' her for?" His calm, cool voice and mildly interested face almost lulled the Uruk into thinking he was merely curious. "Do you require a servant? A victim for your entertainment? A vessel for your lust? I suspect any female would suffice. It would not need to be Kara."

Ufhau was not fooled, and his disgusted look showed it. The growl that had begun low reached a crescendo, and he snarled like an angry warg, but said nothing.

The elf lord tilted his head to the side. "She is different, isn't she?" It was not so much a question as a confirmation. Unsure of the game being played now, the Uruk dropped his guard for a moment. Celeborn's brow rose once more as he swiftly noted the play of emotions across Ufhau's face.

"She is," the Uruk finally said, shielding himself from the probing gaze of the _golug_. "She does not serve me, and I do not wish her harm. She... Kara is..." Ufhau faltered and looked away. If it was his feelings for the woman the _golug_ wanted to hear about, the Uruk believed himself sadly ill-equipped to provide such answers.

"Our Master did not want us to think or feel anything he did not approve of," Ufhau snapped. "He would not approve of this, so I have no words to tell you of it."

"Do you love this woman?" Celeborn asked quietly.

Furrowing his brow, Ufhau bowed his head and snarled bitterly, "Such things are for Men. Or _golug-hai_. They are not for orcs."

"You think not?" Celeborn rose gracefully from his chair and approached the Uruk. Though a twitch of his lower eyelid betrayed a hint of distaste at being so close, the Lord of Lórien showed no other opinion. "The captain of the men who chased you for so many days had a different tale to tell."

"Hmph," Ufhau growled. "I do not doubt that. Crawled all over our camps, reading 'signs,' making up stories to fit what he saw. Kept us on the run. We could not sleep, could barely eat."

"And yet you found the time to use her for your pleasure."

A sudden, offended roar burst out of Ufhau. Guards who had stood silently, watching warily from a respectful distance, drew their swords and stepped forward. The Uruk quivered where he stood, fists clenched, ready to leap upon the _golug_ lord for such an insult, not only to him but Kara as well. "It was not like that!" he bellowed, his voice ringing off the curved walls.

Celeborn nodded, seemingly satisfied about something. He held up a hand, and the guards returned to their posts. Ufhau's breathing had quickened, and he dearly wished for this interview to be over. _Pitch me down the hole to my death, if that is your wish!_ he groused inwardly.

"Captain Thalion told me that you sought revenge for the woman's injury."

Eyes darting around uncertainly, Ufhau nodded. "That man laughed. He said she deserved it, because... because of me."

"I understand also that, once you were subdued, you willingly gave yourself up to their mercy."

"On condition they heal her," Ufhau pointed out angrily. "They might have let her die. That man suggested they do so."

"When my foresters arrived, they report you did not hinder their efforts to tend her, though you cast filthy looks at them."

"I do not trust _golug-hai_ ," Ufhau grumbled sullenly.

"Yet you _did_ , in that instance," Celeborn stated.

"She might have died had I not!" he snarled through clenched teeth.

"The tracker, Maklin, reported that you said you took her for 'sport.'"

As had happened when he first said it, Ufhau faltered over the hated words. "And so I did. It is the only use for... wenches." He grimaced and looked away.

"You lie as badly now as you apparently did before," Celeborn replied. "So Maklin says."

"Is there a purpose to this?" the Uruk bit back.

"Indeed," the elf lord said, nodding. However, he didn't seem inclined to elaborate. Instead, he continued. "You promised to allow them to slay you, unchallenged, and you did. I find this... interesting."

"I honor my promises," Ufhau hissed.

Celeborn raised an eyebrow at the Uruk's hostility, but made no comment on it. Instead, he asked, "What... 'promise' have you made to Kara?"

Ufhau froze. _I promise nothing_ , he'd said several times. _I did not promise not to look when you bathed, I did not promise to leave you be when you asked me not to touch you..._ It was the last that made him wince. A small price to pay, she'd said. Ruination, for the sake of freedom. And he had given her that. All would look at her now, point as Finrael did, and hiss _orc whore_. All that followed that moment in the hollow, when he did not heed her plea, meant nothing now.

"Perhaps that is too... intimate a question," Celeborn said gently when the stricken Uruk couldn't speak for several moments. "I wonder that you claim not to know love, when all you have done speaks so strongly of it."

He flinched as if he'd been struck. Ufhau shook his head. "There is no room in this world for my kind anymore. No matter what else I have done. _Because_ of all I _have_ done."

"Yet you have survived," the elf lord pointed out. "Against all imagining, you have survived longer than any other. How has this occurred, if you have continued following your master's designs?"

" _I have not_!" the Uruk barked, flaring up angrily again. "I have slain no man, raped no woman..." He choked and winced. Grimacing, he snarled, "I spoke a vow, and I _kept my word_."

"Did you?"

"No," Ufhau growled quietly.

"Then, you confess you forced Kara...," Celeborn probed.

" _Yes_ ," he snarled through clenched teeth. "I wanted her, and I took her. Are you fucking satisfied?"

"Now you do _not_ lie," the elf lord said softly. "But it would seem you do not see things as they truly are."

"Hmph," Ufhau snorted. "I took what she would not have given had she a choice."

"Hm, no," Celeborn replied, a small smile playing on his face. "I spoke with her as well, you know. She defends you still."

"It is not deserved," he muttered.

"I think, perhaps, there ought to be room made in the world, for those of your kind who... keep their promises," Celeborn said softly.

Blinking, Ufhau stared in surprise. Recovering quickly, he snarled, "Where would I go, then? Where would I be welcomed? _Tarks_ wouldn't ask whether I'm the one orc allowed to live before they cut my throat."

"Would you consider this place?"

This time, Ufhau staggered back a few steps. "What, _here_?" he cried, horrified.

Celeborn shrugged. "You are correct, there is little tolerance for your people. You would not be safe anywhere else. Under my protection, abiding by _my laws_ , you would be able to live." Smiling, he added, "Kara has already accepted my offer, so long as you consent to stay as well."

Ufhau shook his head slowly. "No. You lie."

"I do not lie, Ufhau. The offer is mine to give."

"And yours to take away!" the Uruk roared. "As soon as Kara bears me a child, the offer dies! And what 'laws' must I abide? The kind easily broken? The kind that have me in chains, in a cage, buried in the earth, hung by my guts?"

"Are you quite finished?"

Glowering at the elf lord, heaving furious breaths, Ufhau curled his lips in a sneer. "I'm done."

"Good," Celeborn said. "You would not be chained or caged. It is a poor offer that has such conditions. My laws are simple, easily obeyed, for you have already shown a tendency in that direction." Closing his eyes for a moment, the elf lord sighed. "Have you ever seen the half-breed issue of your kind?"

Startled, Ufhau blinked mutely and shook his head.

"They tend to be... undesired," the elf lord said delicately. "Often... dangerous to bring to term, for they grow large. Alas, I have seen several born dead, and more strangled or drowned if they survived." He watched the Uruk carefully.

Ufhau's face crumpled, and he looked away. It was likely he'd put one of these things inside her, so frequently did they mate.

No. Not mate. It wasn't mating. Not to her.

He shuddered at the thought of putting Kara through such torment as Celeborn described, as if the indignity of enduring his touch hadn't been enough.

"You can... stop it, can you not?" Ufhau asked, his voice trembling.

"Stop what?" the elf lord asked curiously.

"Cleanse her," the Uruk whispered. "So she... does not... so there is no..."

Celeborn's eyebrows rose. "You would spare her this. Is that what you ask?"

Ufhau nodded.

"Your own child?"

Wincing, the Uruk snarled, "I hadn't the right."

Celeborn chuckled and shook his head. Ufhau glared at him, offended by the elf's amusement.

"Forgive me," he said with a smile. "I suspect you believe she would not welcome such a gift from you. Do you know so little of women, that you think she would hold such hate for you in her heart and not give it voice when the opportunity for your punishment was before her?" Rising from his chair once more, Celeborn approached the Uruk and stood before him. "My daughter was taken by orcs. Abused, as you can well imagine. Her sons wrought such vengeance upon them that few survived the attack. Celebrian spoke few words that were not condemnations of her treatment."

Taking a deep breath, Celeborn went on, "How haunted the woman was for all her days until despair and tormented dreams drove her West. I see none of this pain in Kara. I assure you, if it were there, my eyes, more than anyone else's, would see it."


	15. Epilogue: The Beast Condemned

The guard pulled the cords tightly around Finrael's wrists. His final meal sat like a lead weight in his stomach, but he hadn't the energy or the will to expel it.

In a fog, he allowed himself to be led from the cell, down the corridor, then out into the parade ground. The gallows loomed large and foreboding against the bright blue sky.

_...turned tail and ran... saved his own skin... left Kara on her own without protection..._

Finrael jerked out of his memories and glared at a man in passing, one who'd been among those chasing the girl and the orc. He'd borne witness against Fin, like all the others had. Not a one saw _his_ side of the argument.

_...Shot her right in the back, he did. Then he **laughed**..._

Each of the dozen men was at attention on the grounds, and each had given testimony. Finrael sneered.

_...sure, it **looked** like mischief was goin' on, but we learned otherwise, didn't we?..._

Blind. They were all completely blind. Ignoring what was right before their eyes. Did they have to watch the beast mount her in front of them? Would that convince them?

_...know about that. All I know is, there was orcs what attacked the farm. If he had anything to do with **that**..._

Anger boiled inside him. Did they honestly believe that he would consort with orcs? Really? Conspire with them, even? If he had his way, they'd be roasting in a fiery pit, every last one of them. Starting with that smug son of a bitch rutting with the harpy in Lothlórien right now.

_...yes, but you gotta understand, yer honors. The beastly thing weren't tryin' to attack any of **us**. He only went for Finrael..._

Ah, there he was, that deceitful, lying bastard. Finrael glowered at Maklin as he passed.

_...carefully examined the signs, and yes, one **could** interpret them as indicating defilement took place. But Kara denied such indignities occurred..._

Of _course_ she denied it! He _tried_ to make them see it would be in the woman's best interests to refuse acknowledgment of such vile debauchery, considering she'd thrown her legs wide open to the monstrous creature _particularly_ in order to bring shame upon _him_ when the disgusting whelp she undoubtedly sought to conceive came to light.

_...would say the orc, Ufhau, had nothing whatever to do with the attack on the farm, and in fact dispatched the ones who destroyed it quite handily. Further, he did **not** kidnap Miss Willowmeade. She confessed that she accompanied him of her own free will, out of fear for her life..._

His most hate-filled gaze fell upon the Captain as he mounted the steps. That son of a whore, with his respected position and calm delivery, utterly destroyed any protest Finrael could make. Regardless that the village council deliberated for a week over whether to condemn him, it didn't matter now that the rope was dangling overhead.

_...carefully weighed the evidence and eyewitness accounts, and we have concluded that Finrael Greendale did, in fact, attack Kara Willowmeade with the intent to do harm. Though we do not feel enough evidence has been presented to associate Finrael with the orcs' attack upon the farm, his subsequent behavior is considered questionable enough that we have noted our doubts as to his innocence of that charge. More damning, in the council's opinion, is the choice made by Miss Willowmeade to cast her lot with an orc rather than remain unprotected where Finrael would undoubtedly find her. That this orc has been granted sanctuary by one of the most respected of the Wise speaks to her wisdom in such a choice. Her own written statements regarding the disposition of her land and remaining goods, to the council's wise discretion, have been duly noted. There is only the... unpleasant business of Master Greendale's fate that is left to be decided..._

Hmph. It took them a week to decide they didn't know if he was guilty of conspiracy or not, and an hour to put the noose around his neck for shooting a whore. Of _course,_ the 'gift' of her lands had nothing at all to do with their decision. What was this cursed world coming to?

As he waited for the count to end, and the floor to fall away below his feet, Finrael scanned each face, memorizing their features. If he saw any of those sons of bitches in the Halls of Mandos, he'd certainly have some choice words for _them_.


End file.
